We're In This Together
by Leask
Summary: Seperated after their mother is brutally murdered, two twins, one a mage the other a scrapper find each other to become Grey Wardens: Can they stop the Blight and stay together? Or will their pranks drive Alistair mad? Co-writer MouseMage.
1. Chapter 1

_Co-Authored with the Lovely MouseMage, her work can be found here..._

_.net/u/2250619/_

_**Disclaimers: **Dragon Age: Origins and all related characters are obviously copy-write to Bioware. I'm just playing with them.  
**Spoilers**: Through end game, eventually. For Stolen Throne and Probably for The Calling too, once I've finished.  
**Author's Note: **We decided to play with twins, for the sake of humour mostly. We do take plenty of liberties... sorry, poetic license with many of the things within the Dragon Age universe. Please enjoy, and all R&R's are greatly appreciated!_

* * *

"Isla! Arran, Run!" Adaia whispered, kneeling down to the twin's height. "When I go for the tall fat one, run, as fast as you can back to Valendrian."

Twin pairs of big blue eyes looked up at her in bewilderment. Her daughters had lived a good life – their father was an honest, if gentle, man. The alienage was a good home despite the poverty, and they had really never wanted for anything. But it was these bastard nobles, thinking they could take whatever they wanted whenever they wanted it, and Adaia was not going to let them take her girls to become painted up whores in their courts. They were better than that. She wrapped her arms around her girls, giving them a tight squeeze, and stood up.

Her hand moved to the folds of her apron, and she pulled out Fang, the blade given to her by her mother. She let out a deep breath, readying her stance and pulling the blade across her chest.

"Oh look!" Arl Urien grinned, turning to his men. "The little mouse wants to fight!"

The soldiers with him laughed, and then the arl turned to his teenage son. "Observe Vaughan, how we deal with knife-ears who think they are more than livestock."

But before he could signal the attack, Adaia rushed him. She struck him first across the face with a shallow slash, opening up his flesh in a spray of hot blood. The man swore and staggered back, only for his footmen to rush in at Adaia.

She took the first out with a savage kick to the knee, opening up the throat of the second as she spun around to face the third, who received Fang through the eye. The fourth took a step back, trying to make some distance between himself and the ferocious she-elf. He failed, because she quickly covered the distance and hit him in the temple with the pommel of her blade, sending him to the floor unconscious.

His soldiers down, Arl Urien lay on the floor, covering his bloodied face with one hand. "You will leave my girls alone, Shem." She hissed, kneeling down on one knee to speak to him face to face. "And you will learn to treat us "knife-ears" with a little more resp-"

Adaia never finished her sentence. Vaughan, unnoticed by her, had picked up one of the slaughtered soldier's swords, and thrust it through her back and out her belly. Already reinforcements were running to their fallen Arl, and panic filled her. She turned to her girls, who as usual had disobeyed her and stood watching their mother.

Already she could see the lightening dancing between Isla's fingertips. Arran stood beside her, poised and ready to strike with her bare hands, that furious scowl of defiance on her face.

"Run girls." She whispered, before falling down, dead.

"Mummy!" They both screamed, before running towards her. Arran was the first to reach her, tears already streaming down her face. She fell to her knees, fingers scooping up her mother's head to look into vacant unseeing eyes. Vaughan advanced on her, only to be stopped as Arran's small fist landed squarely in his groin.

"Arran we have to run!" Isla said, lightening dancing around her, tears upon her cheeks. "We have to get out of here!"

Quickly, Arran grabbed Fang, knowing full well it what it was and why it was important. "Not without this." She whispered, standing up and looking to her sister.

"Isla, your magic!"

"I can't help it!"

"Use it you fool!"

"But Mum said..."

"Mum is dead!"

This pushed Isla over the edge. Something within her snapped, and it poured out from her fingers. Her eyes narrowed at Vaughan, who was kneeling beside his father and cupping bruised groin. On compulsion Isla concentrated her power, and let it out.

Lightening crackled from her, wrapping about the adolescent and making his hair stand on end. Isla snapped her hand back, and the lightening coursed through him. He fell over, unconscious and singed. Arran grabbed her sister's hand and ran back to the alienage.

_Several Hours Later..._

Cyrion let out a long sigh, glancing over his shoulder at the twins. They were tucked up in bed, arms wrapped around each other. Adaia was dead. He couldn't believe it. She had always been a fiery woman, with little tolerance for fools or ignorance. But to go so far as to leave her girls without their mother? And with Isla's condition as well. He had done his best, he had done everything he could do, but without Adaia he knew he had little chance of concealing Isla's talents for much longer.

There was a pounding at the door. It woke the girls.

"Open this door in the name of Andraste!"

Cyrion was barely out of his chair in front of the fire when the door flung off it's hinges, and four templars marched in.

"What is the meaning of this?" Cyrion spat, knowing full well what it was all about.

"There's no point in denying it, Elf." One of them removed his helmet. He was middle-aged man, with dark green eyes and greying brown hair. "We can sense the magic here."

"OW!" One of the templars stumbled back, hands pulling off his helmet and then going to his nose. "That little knife-ear punched me in the nose!"

"You're NOT TAKING MY SISTER!" Arran screamed, standing on the bed, with a small chopping knife in her hand. Her face was set in a fierce scowl, and Isla was sat behind her, eyes wide.

"Please, sers..." Cyrion began, only to be back handed across the face by the first templar. He then marched across the room to the bed, where he hit Arran, sending her flying and out the way. Finally he scooped up Isla, who was screaming. Her fingers crackled with the lightening, but they were too practised. In moments her mana was drained, and exhausted the little girl fell limp in his arms. He turned around and marched out, the others following him.

Arran ran after her sister, only to be grabbed by her father and pulled in beside him. "Shhh, my little one, shhh. You'll find her again, I know you will. But there is nothing you can do now."

_5 years later, at the circle tower. _

Cullen had just turned 16 years old. He had started his "on the job" training a few months ago, and was now well on the way to becoming a fully fledged templar. It wasn't like he thought it would be. He had never realised there would be _so much standing around. _There was so much _standing around. _Currently, he was _standing _at the main door to the tower. He was supposed to be keeping guard, but considering there was no bridge and nothing going on, he was actually seeing how long he could hold his breath for in one go. Currently he was up at 1 minute 30 seconds, and was going for two minutes.

That was until a girl climbed up over the edge of the tower's rocky outcrop. Her hair was a brilliant blonde and she scrambled up with a satisfied grin. She waved at him, in a cheerful fashion. "Hi! You're just the man I'm looking for!"

Cullen highly doubted it, and trotted forward to offer her a hand to help her to her feet. She hit him with a bright, chirpy grin. She looked oddly familiar, but Cullen couldn't quite place her face. Blue eyes twinkled, "You're a templar, but you'll have to do I suppose."

"Uuuh." Cullen was pretty sure he should be alerting others to the presence of an intruder, but the girl was just acting like she was meant to be there. Cullen didn't want to look foolish if she was expected to be there, after all.

"I'm wondering if I could visit someone in the tower, a mage? She looks kinda like me. Although I haven't seen her in five years. She might be taller. Or shorter. Or...I dunno." She waved a hand, dismissing her own train of thought. "Her name is Isla Tabris, could you go fetch her for me?"

"Eh...no." Cullen said hesitantly a frown forming on his features. He wasn't entirely sure what happened when you got visitors that didn't come across on the boat. His curiosity got the better of him. "How did you get across if you didn't come in the boat?"

"Huh?" She glanced over her shoulder, indicating the ancient ruined bridge, or at least what remained of it. "Oh, you know. Ropes. Swinging wildly across from one to the other. Dramatic leaps. I'll admit I did fall in the drink once, but you know, it's a sunny day I dried off."

Cullen's eyes widened. "What? You leapt across the ruined bridge?"

"Yea, don't worry, I'll take the ropes down on my way back" Her big blue eyes were on him expectantly. "I take it your not going to get my sister out here for me, are you?"

"Sister?"

The girl sighed. "Isla, Tabris? I mentioned this before, please try to keep up. Look, if you can't get her for me, can you at least give her this.." Her slim hands groped about in her damp tunic. It was at this junction he noticed the points of elvish ears poking out from between long blonde strands of hair. She was an elf. Well, that explained the agility.

She presented him with a slightly soggy letter. "I hope the ink hasn't ran." She said, a little sadness creeping into the edge of her voice. "I have travelled all the way from Denerim."

"How old are you?" Cullen had assumed she was young, but then she was an elf, and it was always difficult to gauge with them.

"13 summers?" She frowned. "What's that got to do with anything? Look." She took his hands, pressing the letter into them. "Please, if you have any soul left in that templar armour of yours, can you give this to my sister? Isla. Tabris. She looks awfully like me. We're twins."

Cullen looked into those big blue eyes that looked at him so imploringly. A part of his heart melted, and he nodded, gently concealing the letter within his breastplate. "Very well!" He sighed, and watched the elf's face burst into an even wider grin.

"Thank you." She breathed. "You're a real knight of the realm." And with that she turned and trotted off, swinging swiftly over the edge of the cliff. Cullen darted forward, worried she was plunging towards the rocks, but she was already clambering down the cliff face, a bit like a monkey.

"Huh." He said to himself, "Maybe this won't be so bad after all." He muttered, before returning to his post at the door. He resolved to look for Isla once he was relieved.

_That Evening... _

"Do it again Isla, do it again!" It was a child's voice, happy and accompanied by clapping hands.

"Yes Isla, please!" Other children then took up the cry, all of them pleading.

"Ok ok..." She laughed, ushering a couple of the more eager children out of the way. She sat down in front of the music box, and made a show of concentrating on the end of her finger. Drawing on just a little of her magic, she caused a small spark of electricity to jolt. It failed, the children gasped. Inwardly the elf mage chuckled to herself – it was all too easy, but the little ones took such delight in her tricks. She sparked again, the small voltage leaping from her finger to the music box, bringing it's tinny tune to life. The children, all under the age of five, clapped and laughed in delight as the box played its small tune.

No one noticed the templar in the background, until he coughed and announced that it was bedtime. They all groaned, but got up obediently and began to file out the dining hall. Cullen watched as Isla sighed, and continued to watch the music box as it began to wind down.

"Isla Tabris?" Cullen had been pointed in this direction by other apprentice mages. Thankfully none of them asked why he was seeking out one particular mage, he was a templar after all. She turned at her name, raising an eyebrow. "Yes?"

Her face was a little kinder than the one that had climbed over the cliff edge. But the similarity was exact. Her eyes a little less cheeky, calmer, was probably the word. Cullen swallowed, the fear of being caught suddenly lurching forward. "I have something for you." He reached into his breastplate, and produced the letter. All day he had carried it carefully, ensuring that the ink hadn't smeared as it dried. He hadn't read the letter, although he had been very tempted. Curiosity and the cat and all.

Isla narrowed her blue eyes at him, standing up from where she sat and venturing the few steps between them cautiously. Gingerly she reached her hand out and hesitated, suspicion evident on her features. "No trick?"

Cullen shook his head. "If it is, it's being played on me." He offered her a small smile. "The elf that gave it to me was your double."

"What?" With that Isla snatched the letter from his hand, ripping open it's envelope.

"Careful, it got damp!" Cullen exclaimed onto deaf ears.

"Arran..." Isla's heart leapt, and she sank to the nearest seat as she recognised her sister's handwriting.

_My Dearest Isla, _

_If you're reading this letter, they wouldn't let me in the tower. Trust me, I'll have tried, but you know me, bad plans and all that. But I will come up with one to rescue you, trust me on that. _

_Nothings been the same since you were taken. Father hasn't been the same, but then neither have I. We've kept well, however, you'll be sad to learn that Aunt Nisa and Uncle Tamis died, and Soris and Shianni have moved in with us. We have all become very close, but I miss you sister. _

_Truthfully, I don't know what I should be writing in this letter. I wanted to tell you how things have been wrong since That Day, father refuses to speak about it Valendrian only cautions me not to follow in mother's footsteps. But I can't, you know me, Isla, I've always been rash and reckless... _

_I want to tell you everything that has happened here, about the babies that have been born, and the old farts that have died. The time I climbed to the very top of the Vhenadahl, much to the outrage of everyone else! You'd have laughed sister, and no doubt been up there with me. Soris was a wuss and only got to the third branch! …._

There was more to the letter, several pages more, but Isla couldn't read it for the tears in her eyes. She wiped them away, and glanced around the dining room checking it was empty. Cullen stood there awkwardly, staring at his feet.

Isla ran forward and hugged him, even around the awkward templar armour. She rocked to her tiptoes, kissing him on the cheek. "Thank you. Thank you!" And with that she ran from the room.

"Defiantly not going to be so bad after all." Cullen smiled to himself, drew in a breath, and headed to bed, grinning from ear to ear.

Over the next year, several letters were handed back and forth. Initially, Arran handed all her letters in person to Cullen to pass on, and likewise from Isla, until Cullen suggested that it was quite acceptable for him to receive and send mail, so why didn't they send letters that way? Both girls were thrilled with the idea, and the frequency of their letters increased dramatically.

Cullen found himself enjoying the time he got to spend with Isla because of this. She was a bright, friendly girl, but with a cheeky sense of humour that he found endearing. Her sister was a completely different matter. Crazy was one word to describe her, Cullen thought to himself, especially after the day of their 14th birthday...

"_Cullen, pleeeeeease" She whinged at him, hopping from foot to foot and giving him her best puppy dog eyes. "Come on, please? I'll only be five little minutes, no-one will ever know!" _

"_No Arran!" He hissed. They were standing at the edge of the tower, near Arran's now usual appearance spot. He hadn't been expecting her, but she had turned up and found him during his combat training. _

"_But it's our biiiiirthday!" Arran was good at whining. She could put a particular tone into her voice that grated on his senses. _

"_No, Arr-" He paused, frowning and looking down at her. Isla hadn't mentioned a birthday. "It's your birthday?" _

_Arran nodded, flicking some strands of her blond hair behind her ear. It was amazing, he reflected. They hadn't seen each other in years, and yet had the same hair style anyway. And habits. "Please? Come on, five minutes...four minutes? I'll hug her super quick!" _

_Cullen shook his head, but spoke more gently. "No Arran...it's rash, and stupid and if you're caught.. if I'm caught...If Isla is caught! Things.." He hesitated. "Bad things will happen. Greagior will have my hide for starters."_

"_Fine!" Arran hissed, throwing a hastily wrapped gift at him. "Give her this, she'll know what I mean!" And with that she disappeared down over the cliff edge again. Cullen sighed with relief. "Finally." That girl was trying. _

_It wasn't until an hour later, when he was heading to the library to relieve Willhiem from his watch duty when he saw her. At least, he thought he saw her. He'd passed a rather lost looking serving elf, with blond hair. An elf that had defiantly raised her finger to her lips in a "shhhh" gesture. That certainly gave it away. Cursing, he spun on his heel and chased after her, grabbing her by her arm. _

"_Arran! What are you doing in here you idiot!"_

"_Arran?" She tried to look innocent. "I'm Lucy ser!" Arran was failing miserably, and presented him with a rather dirty looking sheet. "Need any laundry doing Ser?" _

"_What are you doing here?" Cullen growled at her in a whisper, starting to frog march her to the servant's exit. "I told you not to be here, you'll get us all in trouble!"_

"_What Ser? You've pissed your bed?" She replied, loudly, just as they passed some of his peers and a couple of mages. One of which was Wynne, who took a double take at the girl. _

"_Be **quiet **Arran!" He dragged her around a corner, and saw the servant's entrance nearby. She obviously hadn't been in the tower that long, thank the maker. _

"_Fine, fine!" She sighed, reluctantly. "I'll go I'll go... Just make sure she gets her present, ok?" _

"_You think I wouldn't?" Cullen pushed her out the door, and frowned at her. "Goodbye, Arran." _

_She stuck her tongue out at him as he closed the door, and locked it, for good measure. _

It was now their 16th birthday, and he was sitting with Isla over a cup of tea. She laughed at the story of her sister's attempts at getting into the tower. "She did well, you have to admit." Isla grinned, lifting her teacup. "Getting past the guards. I wonder where she got the dirty sheet?"

"I don't want to know." Cullen replied with a grin. His hand ran through his hair, and he let out a sigh. He had been finding himself spending more and more of his free time just chatting with Isla when he could. The tower was not as strict as it should've been at that moment as Greagoir was away, involved in the disappearance of the King. Many were sure he was dead, and were pushing for Cailan to be crowned king.

Isla chuckled, and topped up his tea from the teapot. "I really have to thank you Cullen, for giving me my family back. I know it's not how Arran wants it, but its the closest I can get really. It wouldn't be possible without you."

"Well, you're not the only one benefiting from the whole endeavour. I've truly been enjoying our stolen moments together Isla."

It was her grin. It was cheeky, and implied a lot more than he actually meant, "Stolen moments, eh?" She teased, tongue flickering over her lips.

Cullen flushed pink. "That's not what I meant, and you know it!"

Isla just giggled, and gave him a long look.

_Meanwhile..._

"Arran Tabris! Get Back Here!" Cyrion bellowed after his daughter, sometimes, when his mood was dark, and Arran was being particularly difficult, he wished they had taken the wrong daughter. She glanced over her shoulder, sticking her tongue out at him and vanished around a corner. He gave chase, but he already knew she would've scrambled onto the rooftops and disappeared into the evening. He drew to a panting halt, trying to catch his breath.

"Has she got away from you again, Uncle?" Soris appeared, with the groceries in his arms.

"That girl will be the death of me!" He exclaimed, walking over to his nephew and taking the bags from him. "Could you go looking for her? I've been trying to get her to help me prepare the Feastday meal all day, but she just refuses. I'm worried she'll head out on one of her 'trips' again."

Soris nodded, and offered a smile. "Don't worry Uncle, I know where she'll be."

"Thank you nephew, thank you. And tell her that her Uncle is here." Cyrion headed off back to the house, and Soris just proceeded to take his time heading over to the Vhenadahl. He peered up within it's branches, hunting for that shock of blonde hair, that would no doubt have fallen out of the neat buns Shianni had forced it into that morning.

"Arran?" He called up, "I know your there, come home and make a mess in the kitchen. Maybe that way Cyrion will realise that you and flour are a bad combination."

"Nu-uh, no way!" Came the reply. "Come up here and get me!"

Soris sighed to himself, "You're too old to be climbing trees!"

"Go make love to a goat!"

"Now that was just mean!" Soris scowled, finally taking the bait and clambering up the tree. He got about half way, and then his vertigo kicked in. He wrapped his arms tightly about a branch and groaned.

"Don't look down." Came Arran's help, and one of her boots swung into view. "You've not got far to reach me this time."

Letting out a sigh Soris grabbed Arran's ankle and scrambled up to sit beside her on one of the tree's large internal branches. She had found a little seat, and was facing the trunk. She always looked at the same bit, and the carving had been worn smooth by her constant tracing of it.

Soris sighed, and looked at the twin's initials etched into the bark.

"You're not thinking of trying to break in again, are you?" His blue eyes looked to her face. She offered him a smile. "Well...it worked so well last time?" She replied with a shrug.

"Arran!"

"No!" She replied, venomously at first, but then she sighed. "No. But I'm considering an idea."

"Come home." Soris replied. "Duncan is here for the Feastday celebrations."

Arran visibly perked up at that, a grin forming on her lips. "Duncan?" And with that she rolled from the branch she was lounging on, fingers swiftly grabbing another before she hopped out the tree, landing squarely on her feet with a little flourish. Soris on the other hand, didn't land nearly as gracefully and nearly crashed his face into the ground. "I'll race you home!" Arran shouted, breaking into a run.

Soris groaned, and got to his feet. "Damn you cousin!"

Arran ran. She loved to run, loved to jump, loved to dance. She loved anything that involved her feet, and speed. She skidded around the corners, the ground damp from the rain the previous night. She positively burst into her father's house, pausing to glance about. She saw Shianni at the fire, tending to a few rabbits that were roasting. There was a bottle of wine open on the table, two glasses. Her father sat on one chair, and on the other sat Duncan. Her beloved "uncle" Duncan.

Arran rushed towards him, flinging her arms about his neck and kissing his forehead. "Duncan!" She exclaimed "So good to see you!"

"Arrran! Take off your muddy boots!" Cyrion moaned at her. She ignored him, plonking her rear end of the edge of the table, looking the Grey Warden intently in the face. She then slapped him across the cheek. "That's for taking so long to visit! Have you any idea how hard it is dealing with these people all on my onesy!"

Duncan laughed, grabbing her wrist and slapping the back of her hand gently. "Oh you silly child." He chided, letting her arm go as she pulled up a chair for herself. "It is good to see you well. How is Isla? I hear rumours of a blonde spectre haunting the tower."

Arran grinned. While her father and cousins had tried to dissuade her from her adventures to the tower, Duncan had encouraged them. In his letters he often suggested strategy's and ideas – none of which she took on board but the thought was there nonetheless. Arran folded her arms on the table and rested her head on them. "She's well. Got a crush on a boooooy there. She's all googly eyed and keeps writing about love and her heart fluttering. Pah!" Arran rolled her eyes and sighed, blue eyes looking up at Duncan.

"A boy huh? And what about you, anyone special?"

"Naw, not really." She grinned. "There's been lots of boys, but none of them special."

"Arran!" Cyrion was exasperated, and stared at her.

"I'm kidding Daddy!" She teased, sitting up, and leaning back in her chair. "Just kidding."

It was at this point Soris finally got into the house, took off his boots and fell into a chair around the table. Shianni joined them, and they whiled away the evening talking. It wasn't until Cyrion had gone to bed, as had her cousins that she got some time alone with her uncle.

He was sat outside the house, on the small step and was puffing contemplatively on his pipe. Looking up at the stars. Arran joined him, arms wrapped around her knees.

"I've got a proposal for you, Arran." He said gently.

"Hmm?"

"You're a young woman now, and take after your mother."

Arran wasn't sure where this proposal was going. She gave him a sidelong glance. He ignored her, and carried on. "You've got her spirit, her natural talent for getting up to mischief, her grace and all her talent with that blade of yours. It's obvious you are not happy here. How would you like to become a Grey Warden?"

The young elf stared at him openly, a deep frown forming on her face. "Really?"

He nodded. "Yes. But not now. You need to live your life a little, grow up a little more. Maybe get a bit more sensible. And of course, improve the combat skills that your mother gave you."

Arran's face split into a grin. "That, Duncan, sounds like a fine plan."

_Four Years Later..._

"I want this elf out of the city tonight!" The guard captain growled.

"Yes, of course." Duncan said, nodding his agreement to the man. "Arran, pack your things and say your goodbyes, I'll meet you here."

Arran nodded, and ran back to her house. Shianni was already there, with Cyrion pushing a warm cup of tisane into her hands. "Arran!" He exclaimed, rushing towards her as she entered. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine father, listen...I'm sorry...but I've got to go with Duncan."

"What?"

"He used the right of conscription to save my ass from jail. I took full responsibility, so Soris has nothing to worry about."

"Arran..."

"Daddy, please. This is what I want. This is what I've always wanted." She took his hands in hers, and looked at him with those big, imploring blue eyes. Her mother had those eyes.

"Both my daughters gone..." He sighed, feeling the tears prick the back of his eyes.

"No Dad." Arran said firmly, her hands cupping his cheeks. "This is my chance. I'm going to get Isla, and I'll come back and get you, and we'll go where there are no humans to rule over us. We'll have a farm. With a horse, and cows. And a sheep."

Cyrion laughed, "And you say you're not a dreamer, little one." He pulled her into a hug. "Let me pack you a bag." With that he turned, disappearing into the back of the house. Arran moved to Shianni, kneeling before her. Her fingers reached up to stroke her cousin's cheek. "Are you ok, Shianni?"

She offered a weak smile. "I will be. I've only told them he beat me, I don't want everyone treating me like a fragile flower."

"That's my girl." Arran replied, standing up and setting her hands on her hips. "And if anyone ever bothers you again, tell them your big cousin the Grey Warden will come and feed them to darkspawn!" Shianni giggled, beginning to feel a little more like herself. "I'll see you soon, cousin?"

"Of course!" Arran smiled, and her father returned, giving her a ready packed bag and a pair of boots. "These were your mothers – it seems fitting that you take them now. Be safe, little one."

Arran kissed both Shianni and Cyrion, and left.

_That Evening..._

"Are you sure you are willing to take a watch?" Duncan said, eyeing Arran suspiciously. She was up to something, he could feel it. She had that gleam in her eye, that gleam she got when she thought she had a plan.

"Positive Duncan." She offered him an endearing smile. "You're an old man, and you need your sleep."

"Don't be cheeky!" Duncan chided, retreating into his tent, and settling down for a few hours rest. As much as he saw Arran as a surrogate daughter, she was very trying. He had no idea how Cyrion had ever coped with her.

He awoke his designated three hours later, and emerged from the tent to a dying fire and a stick in the ground, a note that was attached to it fluttered in the breeze.

"Andraste's' Cunt!" He cursed, snatching the note and reading it.

_Dearest, Loveliest Uncle Duncan. _

_Sorry, but I have to go and get Isla. I'm already a fugitive from the law, what harm is my sister joining me? I would appreciate your help if you feel the need to give it. After all, you know me and plans! _

_(At this point in the letter, Arran had drawn a little stick person with a big smiley face) _

_All my love, _

_Arran. _

Duncan crushed the letter in his hands. "The tower! She's gone to the bloody tower!" And with that he moved to pack up his tent and belongings. Time to give chase.

_At the Tower._

Despite having taken his vows two years ago, Cullen was still astounded at the amount of time he spent _standing around. _He could now hold his breath for up to four minutes on a good day, and right now was going for a nice round five. The door behind him burst open, and a young mage bolted past him. Cullen recognised him as Isla's friend Jowan, and the youth looked back at him desperately. Cullen could hear other templars shouting after him, and so made to withdraw his sword. But the dark haired lad threw something to the ground which exploded.

The shock bomb knocked Cullen to his feet, dazing him for another minute. During this time he could swear he felt something slip past him and into the tower.

The templar went to strike Isla across the face. She knew she had made a bad decision – she had no idea Jowan was a Maleficar, but then ignorance was not an excuse. She knew her friendship with him made things look really bad – and she had fallen for his story of forbidden love. After all, she had considered it enough times herself. She'd been stupid, and reckless, and would have to face the consequences. Isla prepared herself for the blow, and winced. She heard the clang of metal on metal, and then the heavy thump of someone's body hitting the ground. There was the clang of templar armour on the stone floor.

"DON'TYOU TOUCH MY SISTER!"

Isla opened her eyes. Her sister was there, here, in the tower. She had Fang and another blade drawn, and was in that slight crouched stance she took when she was about to gut someone.

"Arran!" Isla breathed, not quite believing what was happening. Arran glanced over her shoulder, and flashed Isla a grin. "Hey."

The templars were hesitating. It was one thing to rush in and bring down a mage, it was quite another to bring down a spitting ally cat. Willhiem was curled up in a ball on the floor, and he was wearing full plate armour. They didn't want to know how she found his family jewels, but she had and the poor guy was feeling the effects of her kick.

The sound of hurrying feet filled the silence, and in the door appeared Cullen, with Duncan in tow. "Wait!" Duncan shouted, desperation creeping into his voice.

The first enchanter turned, looking to the two new additions to the fray. "Duncan?" The old man tilted his head, quizzically. "What on Thedas?"

"My apologies, First Enchanter. My newest recruit is a little...impulsive. And resourceful, it would seem." Duncan caught his breath, and walked forward.

"Arran, put away your weapons."

"Not until they put away theirs!" She growled, tightening her grip upon Fang.

"No!" Greagoir was spitting coals. "She helped a Maleficar! She needs to be punished!"

"I didn't know he was a bloody Blood Mage!" Isla had regained her senses, but still stood behind her sister, the protective meat shield.

"Nice cussing sis."

"Shut up!"

Duncan by this point had edged forward, and also stood between Isla and the templars. "Please, gentlemen. Let us talk about this in a more civilised manner. I give you my word that Arran will not harm anyone, and you can easily contain Isla in a classroom with a skilled templar."

Irving nodded. "This is a sensible plan, this all needs explaining. Greagoir?"

"Fine." The knight-Commander hissed. "Cullen, take these two to my office and keep a close eye on them."

"Yes Ser." Cullen narrowed his eyes at Arran, who grinned and began to slip away her weapons. He gestured to the doorway, and as the three of them moved into the corridor, he hissed a whisper at Arran. "Nice...Plan..."

"Wasn't it?" She grinned, linking arms with her sister. "First one that worked too, I think."

Isla laughed, and leant her head against her sister''s shoulder. "You had to have one eventually. Luckily for me you managed to save my ass!"


	2. Chapter 2

"I'm outside!" Isla breathed, taking in a huge long breath of air. "I can't remember being outside without someone watching me."

Arran entwined her hand into her sister's and squeezed it gently, "I did promise to come get you," she said quietly. Isla smiled and pulled her into a tight hug, Duncan who was close enough heard her whisper 'thank you' and when she pulled back she hastily wiped the few tears that had escaped away. She looked happy to be leaving but Duncan watched as she turned to look back as they walked towards Kester and the docks. The templar who guarded the door shared her saddened expression as they braved a small wave of goodbye. Duncan nodded his head and followed after the twins. He hadn't planned on it but somehow he had convinced the tower to give him a fourth recruit. He knew Isla would benefit from joining the Grey Wardens and with her along perhaps Arran would calm down a bit. He hoped anyway.

The journey to Ostagar was mainly filled with the girls chatter and giggling as they compared each other since their last physical meeting.

"I can't believe that even what, ten years apart we've been able to dress the same," Isla said.

"Well your in a dress, I don't think I ever thought I'd see you in a dress. What are you wearing?" Arran quizzed.

"They're mage robes! They help with my magic," Isla countered.

"Help with your how?" Arran continued, staring in disgust at the demur robes.

"There's spells woven into the fabric."

"Whhhhhhy?"

"Arran ..."

"What I'm curious am I not allowed to learn?"

"Only when it means you have an advantage over someone."

"That means I have plenty over you then, Miss I'll-be-Stuck-in-a-Tower-and-Need-Rescuing-by-your-Big-Sister!"

"Shut up!"

"Ooooo witty comeback."

"Girls, quiet the King is here," Duncan chided.

"Ooooo the King!" Arran jumped up and clapped her hands, "Hello Mr King!"

"Arran!"Duncan chided her, and Isla wished the ground would swallow her up.

Cailan laughed, having heard just the end of the conversation as he approached the Wardens. "Duncan!" He exclaimed with a grin, taking the old Warden's hand in a firm shake. "Two recruits? I thought you were only bringing one?"

"It's a long story, your Highness." He bowed, and Isla followed suit. Arran continued to stand upright, but offered the king a grin. "I rescued my sister from the oppressive tower," She declared, letting her hands fall to her hips in a proud stance, cocking her head at him.

Isla grabbed her sister's wrist and pulled her down. "Kneel you idiot! It's the King!"

For a second Arran blinked at Cailan owlishly. Then realisation dawn. "Oh Bum!" She declared, before dropping into a quick bow. "Sorry!"

Duncan groaned, and pinched the bridge of his nose. Maybe Arran had been a mistake, he probably should've just got Isla.

Cailan laughed, pulling Arran back up and patting her on the shoulder. "Oh, don't be so formal girl! We'll be shedding blood together, and I like your sense of humour."

"Trust me Ser, after 20 minutes of her you won't." Duncan muttered, rolling his eyes. Arran seemed to charm everyone she met, initially, but after a while she got a bit much for most people. Isla was the only one that seemed to be able to reign in her enthusiasm. It must've been a twin thing. Arran ignored him, and reached out in a friendly little punch to Cailin's shoulder. "I like you too your awfully handsome!" Cailin's grin only widened.

"Arraaaaaaan" Isla groaned, flushing a little pink. She had forgotten how forward her sister was, and obviously now she was a grown women... She shuddered to think of what that might mean. Cailan only laughed again, his eyes flickering to Isla.

"My goodness, twins!" He observed, tilting his head.

"I heard you were a sharp one," Isla said, not realising she actually said it. She caught herself, and frowned. Arran chuckled, and linked arms with her and rested her head on Isla's shoulder. "Yep, your Highness, we're twins. She's a mage, I think I mentioned I rescued her."

Cailan smirked, and nodded his head. "A daring rescue I bet it was too."

"Of course!" Arran began, waving one hand that indicated she was about to launch into story telling mode. Duncan stopped her, with a stay of his hand. "I'm afraid Cailan you'll have to hear the story later. There is much that needs to be done."

Cailan sighed. "Yes, that is correct," He lamented. "Loghain wants to discuss strategy for the battle, and if I don't head over to his tent soon he'll send out a search party. Perhaps later you could entertain me with your tale, Ms Tabris?"

Arran grinned, dropping into a flamboyant bow. "Of course, your Majesty." She winked. Isla groaned, but offered a more sensible bow as Cailan departed. Arran tilted her head, watching him leave, admiring his swagger. Isla elbowed her sister in the ribs.

"Ow! What was that for?"

"He's the King! He's married!"

Arran pouted. "I'd have thought the King could do whatever he wanted." Isla glared at her a little more, and Arran just offered her a grin, returning her attention back to Duncan.

"So, Boss, what happening now?" She swiftly changed the subject, and the old man sighed.

"Yes, we should proceed with your Joining as quickly as possible." He began to walk along the causeway, with Arran and Isla flanking his either side. Isla's eyes were focused upon him, and Arran's wandered around the landscape, taking it all in.

"There is a Junior Grey Warden by the name of Alistair. Seek him out when you're ready to proceed. You're welcome to explore Ostagar, but I ask that you do not go into the Korcari Wilds just yet, there will be plenty of time for you to romp around in the woods."

His eyes drifted to Arran, "And please, behave yourselves. Conduct yourself with a little dignity, Arran." They paused as they reached the posted guard, and he turned to give her a wee stern glare. It didn't seem to affect Arran at all, and instead she stood on tip toe and planted a kiss on his cheek. "Of course I'll be good Duncan." The Warden smiled, patted her on the shoulder, and then turned off to go and attend to business. The twins stood, looking out over the camp.

The place was all hustle and bustle. Brightly coloured tents were clustered together in several small groups. The were separated roughly by degrees, mostly make shift fencing and guards. Flags marked out the important tents – the King's was immediately obvious, as was the Teyrn's tent. The mages were casting something, Isla could feel it, and they started to wander down amongst all the hustle and bustle.

"Come on," Arran said, tugging on her sister's arm. "I bet this Alistair bloke is over this way, if he's not we can always ask..." She trailed off..."The guys with mabari hounds!" Arran made a bee line for the dogs, leaning over the fencing to look into one of the pens. "Hello puppy!" She grinned, and a tall guy with long hair approached her and within seconds Isla saw that her sister was wrapped up in conversation.

"I guess I'm looking Alistair myself then..." Isla glanced around, eventually picking a direction at random and heading that way. She could hear a raised voice, and out of curiosity followed it. She headed up a ramp and saw two figures, one a mage and the other a tall blond haired guy in splintmail.

"Aw, and here I thought we were getting along so well! I was even going to name one of my children after you... The grumpy one!"

Isla suppressed a giggle. She recognised the mage as Hanson, who she knew to be a bit of a dick that most of the apprentice mage's disliked intensely. She walked forward, just as the senior mage stormed off, and Alistair's soft brown eyes found hers. He looked her up and down, taking in her robes.

"Are you Alistair?" Isla didn't really appreciate being eyed up like that. His tongue flickered over his lips.

"Yes..." He hesitated, "You're not another mage, are you?"

"If you have a problem with my magic, say so now." Isla raised an eyebrow and tilted her head, folding her arms over her chest.

"No no no!" Alistair raised his hands up and shook them worriedly. "Just...Mages...Make me nervous. Or I make them nervous. I'm not sure which."

"Why would you make mage's nervous?"

"I've...um...I trained as a templar."

"Oh, great, ." Isla sighed, and rolled her eyes. "Just I thought I had escaped the tower, now I'm swapping one leash for another leash..."

Alistair's rubbed the back of his neck worriedly. "No no no! It's not like that. I never took my vows! I'm a Grey Warden, you don't need to worry about me!" He offered a smile, a toothy, nervous smile.

Isla turned away from him, speaking over her shoulder. "Duncan wants you, by the way." And with that she headed off to hunt out her sister.

Alistair let out a long sigh, and pinched the bridge of his nose. She must be Duncan's new recruit. But wait, he'd said she was an elf from the Alienage? Maybe he'd meant before the tower took her. Oh well...yea, that must be it. Shaking his head Alistair headed off to find Duncan, and find out what the old man wanted.

Duncan was at the fire, staring into it contemplatively. His arms were folded across his chest, and behind him sat the girl from before, all wrapped up in a blanket with a mug of tea at her feet. She looked a little more relaxed now – maybe she was just tense. Or nervous.

"Ah, Alistair." Duncan glanced over his shoulder as he approached. "I'd like you to meet Arran, the girl I told you about from Denerim."

Alistair nodded to her, and Arran looked up and offered him a smile. "I'm sorry," Alistair began "I should've recognised you from Duncan's description." In return Arran smiled up at him, offering a little wave with a finger of the hand that held her blanket shut. "It's fine, don't worry about it." She said, eyes wandering back to the fire contemplatively.

"I've got to go and speak to Loghain and Cailan, about battle plans. You should probably find Daveth and Jory, so we might begin the joining."

Alistair nodded, as Duncan turned and affectionately patted Arran on the head, before he headed off. "And get yourselves something to eat, too." He added.

Alistair waited a second until Duncan was out of earshot. Then he sat down beside Arran. "Cold?"

"A little." She said softly, tongue flickering over her lips. Then she turned, offering him a grin. "Nothing I can't handle though, I'm a tough girl."

Alistair chuckled. "Look, I'm honestly sorry about earlier. I'm not very good at meeting new people." Arran seemed more relaxed now, and Alistair was finding her easier to talk to.

Arran laughed, "Oh that? For goodness sake that's just silly." She punched him playfully on the shoulder. "Forget about it, fellow Warden-Dude." Then she winked in a way that could only be described as suggestive, and caused Alistair's face to flush red.

"I...Uh...better go find Daveth and Jory." He said, looking away from her.

"Off you go then, Handsome." Her voice was teasing. Alistair found his words thick in his throat, and he got up to leave. Just as he made to move off, he felt a hand firmly ass. She squeezed.

"!" Alistair turned around, eyes wide and staring at her. His face was bright red.

"Well, you shouldn't wiggle it so teasingly!" The elf stuck her tongue out at him.

Flabbergasted, Alistair stalked off in search of Daveth and Jory, hurriedly.

Isla came from the other side of the fire.

"There you are!" She exclaimed, sitting down next to her sister. "I was looking all over, where were you?"

"There's a sick mabari at the kennels." Arran looked to Isla, her eyes a little sad. "The poor thing swallowed some darkspawn blood. The Kennel master needs a herb from the Korcari wilds. I said to him I'd try and get it."

Isla wrapped her arm about her sister's shoulders. "I'm sure Duncan would give you ten minutes to run around in the forest to find it."

Arran's eyes lit up, and she grinned. "I'll go ask him!" And she leapt up, shrugging off her blanket and laying it gently over her sister's shoulders. "Stay warm sis, I'll be right back."

Isla had roughly fifteen minutes peace, where she sat and just enjoyed sitting outside unsupervised. She couldn't help it though, but her thoughts kept wandering back to Cullen. What was he doing? Probably standing around the library, watching. He always watched quietly and unobtrusively. She wasn't missing being constantly watched... but she felt a bit lost, not always knowing another person was there. She wasn't left to her thoughts for long, because Alistair returned with two other men in tow.

"Still cold?" He offered her a smile, tilting his head.

She looked up at him, her face forming into a frown. It was him. She wasn't particularly keen on him and his strange attitude. "If you're referring to my attitude from earlier, that's not the way to go about an apology."

"Apology? But, earlier you..." He pointed over his shoulder as if indicating the past, a frown of bewilderment taking over his face.

"Earlier? If I recall earlier you insulted me because I was a mage!"

"No, after that,here, by the fire! You grabbed my ass!"

There was a long, awkward pause. Daveth and Jory exchanged confused glances, Daveth raising an eyebrow.

Isla hesitated, then realisation dawned. She broke into a grin, one hand lifting to her mouth to stifle a giggle. She bit her knuckle, nose crinkling. "Hee hee."

"What? Why are you laughing?" Alistair scowled at her. This was grossly unfair. He knew he was the butt of some sort of joke, but his train of thought was derailed when there was short, sharp pinch on his ass. He yelped, leaping forward and turning around, to see Arran standing there with an impish grin.

"Hey Handsome!" She teased, patting him on the shoulder as she passed him to sit on the log beside her sister. Isla had descended into silent laughter, the blanket slipping off her shoulders to reveal her mage robes. Tears streamed down her face, and Arran looked at her quizzically. "What's so funny?"

"He..." Isla pointed at Alistair, who was bright red with embarrassment, "Thought..." She hiccuped, "You, were me?"

Arran laughed, too, running her hand through her hair. Tongue darting over her lips. "Did Duncan not tell you I had a twin?"

"No...He didn't mention that." Alistair mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. The hot flush hadn't gone away, and he let out a long sigh.

"Twins, eh?" Daveth smirked, "Well, I suppose I better introduce myself then, hmm? I'm Daveth." He then stepped forward, taking Arran's hand and kissing the back of it. She giggled, stupidly, in a way that just annoyed Isla. She knew her sister was just playing up to Daveth's obvious womanising, and she wished her sister wouldn't. There was something about her suggested promiscuity that didn't sit well with her.

She didn't give Daveth her hand, instead offering a little glare. "It's always nice to meet other professionals." She said, leaning back just a little. Jory then stood up to introduce himself, and then the four of them settled down into chatting about how they all came to be in the Grey Wardens.

Eventually, Duncan turned up and broke the news to them that they were going to be heading into the Korcari Wilds.

_Several Hours Later..._

Isla and Arran, when paired together, were a near unstoppable force. They complimented each other perfectly – where Isla left herself open, Arran was there to stop an unseen attack. Where Arran couldn't reach, Isla's lightening could. Between them they quickly and swiftly dispatched darkspawn and wolf alike. There was one flaw between them – Arran had a tendency to rush headlong into the fray, leaving Isla to pick up the pieces when it inevitably went wrong. Alistair had watched as Arran had leapt right into the middle of a wolf pack, either underestimating her enemy or overestimating her own skill. One beast had nearly leapt onto her back from her blind spot, and it was only Isla throwing lightning at it that stopped her sister from being mauled.

The Emissary fell dead at his feet. He glanced around, Isla looked knackered – she was obviously tiring, but she knelt down to the nearest darkspawn and started to bleed him into a couple of vials. Jory and Daveth were doing likewise, and Arran stood on a nearby outcrop, peering into the distance.

"The tower is just over there," Alistair said, drawing everyone's attention. As a group they came together, and began to head over. He glanced over his shoulder at Arran, who had gone very quiet and was lingering at the back. He got distracted when Daveth spotted the chest. "There! That must be it!"

Isla, who was at the head of their group bent down to examine it as they drew close enough. The chest was broken and empty and Isla frowned, there were no treaties inside. She quickly stood and turned around to stare at the figure that now graced the ramp nearby. She narrowed her eyes at the dark haired woman and folded her arms.

"Are you a vulture, I wonder?" She said, beginning to walk towards them. "A scavenger poking amidst a corpse whose bones were long since cleaned? Or merely an intruder, come into these darkspawn filled wilds of mine in search of easy prey?" She raised an eyebrow and tilted her head, folding her arms across her chest. "Well? Which is it? Scavenger or Intruder?"

"Careful, she looks chasined." Alistair said softly, "There could be other's near by."

"You fear barbarians may swoop down upon you?" She raised her hands in a gesture.

"Yes..." Alistair replied, "Swooping is baaad."

"I wouldn't worry about barbarians swooping..." Isla began.

At this point Arran appeared, as if from thin air and grabbed the stranger from behind, pressing a blade to her throat. "But I would watch out for elves." Isla concluded, with a grin.

"Ah." The woman replied, swallowing carefully against the blade. "Seems I underestimated you." She felt the pressure of Arran's foot against her the back of her knee, making it collapse involuntarily. The elf still held her up, the blade at her throat almost pricking the skin.

"Allow me to introduce us." Arran said against her ear, no malice or cruelty, just rather matter of factly. "We're Grey Wardens. There were meant to be some documents in that box over there, sealed in with magic. They are apparently missing. Would you happen to know anything about that?"

"You invoke a name that means nothing here. But if it is your documents you seek, then there is no point in asking me, as I am not the one who took them."

"Then who did?" Isla asked, her eyes fixing onto her sister.

"My mother. You can ask her for them, if you like."

Isla's eyes met Arran's. She nodded, and Arran removed her dagger, releasing Morrigan to stand freely. She took several steps back, but remained behind the witch, in her blind spot. Morrigan glanced over her shoulder, first left and then right, but Arran flanked her movements, making herself almost invisible. The woman sighed.

"I am Morrigan, who are you?"

"I'm Isla. That is my sister Arran, this is Alistair, Daveth, and Jory. Could you take us to your mother, so we might be able to speak with her?"

"What? But she's a witch of the wilds!" Daveth worried, "She might turn us all into toad stew!"

"If the pots warmer than this forest it'll be nice a change." Jory remarked, and with that, they followed Morrigan to Flemeth's hut.

_Back at Camp._

Arran stared wide eyed as Duncan withdrew his sword from Jory's stomach. The knight gurgled, blood bubbling from his mouth before he fell over dead, to join Daveth on the floor. Isla swallowed, her eyes flickering to Alistair who offered her no support there.

"But he had a family!" Arran protested, her eyes moving to Duncan, staring at him aghast. Duncan let out a long sigh, before stepping up to her and gripping her shoulder. "It is the price of becoming a Grey Warden, little one." He said gently. "It is the price we pay."

Alistair had finished mixing up the blood from the third vial with the lyrium. He handed the chalice to Duncan, who took it and pressed it into Arran's hands. Gingerly she took it, looking into the swirling dark liquid. Her blue eyes looked to Isla, and then to Duncan, who nodded at her.

She lifted the Chalice and drank deeply, and before she had even swallowed Isla had grabbed it from her, and took a swig herself. She then dropped the Chalice, and reached out to grab her sister's hand.

Then darkness consumed them both.


	3. Chapter 3

Isla's eyes fluttered open, and she groaned. She had a monumental headache. "Uuurgh..." Her eyes fluttered open, and the concerned faces of Alistair and Duncan looked down upon her. "Welcome back." Alistair grinned, offering her a hand and helping her to her feet.

"Arran?" She queried, looking about for her sister.

She saw Arran lying sprawled out on the ground, her eyes shut. "Oh god! Arran!" Isla ran towards her, her heart in her throat. She was already calling healing magic to her fingertips, but as she knelt beside her, her sister's eyes opened.

Arran groaned too, pushing herself upright and massaging her temples. "I feel like I've been in a drinking contest with a dwarf..."

Her eyes focused on her sister's worried, but relieved expression. "Me too!" She laughed. They were alive.

_Several Hours Later..._

Alistair was heading to the quarter master, looking for Arran. Isla had advised him not to bother, because she wouldn't be found where she had gone. He had enquired at the kennel, but the kennel master had not seen her since she had helped apply a healing poultice to a rather ill looking mabari. He passed Cailan's tent, and the two guards posted outside glared at him.

"What?" He shrugged, moving past them, only to hear the flap of the tent being pulled back. He hesitated, wondering if it would be Cailan and whether or not to risk a snatch of conversation with the king. But it wasn't the king that emerged.

It was Arran.

Her hair was a little dishevelled, and as she stepped out she was busy adjusting her arm bracers. Her blue eyes caught Alistair's, and she offered him a knowing grin. "Hey there Handsome." He gawped at her as she approached, and he pointed to the Cailan's tent. "You...didn't?"

"Didn't what?" She projected perfect innocence, "Advise the King about Grey Wardenly matters? Course not Alistair, don't be silly. I don't know very much about Grey Wardenly matters."

"He's married!" He exclaimed, as she linked her arm into his and began to lead him back to the Grey Warden tents. "So was I." She retorted, letting out a sigh. "Well, sort of. Didn't end well."

"You were married?" Alistair looked at her in disbelief, eyes widening.

"Well...you know." And with that statement Arran's tone seemed to suggest that was the end of the conversation. "Were you looking for me?" She led the conversation away, and Alistair's mind clicked back into position.

"Yes...Yes." He said, "Duncan wants to go over the battle plans with us." Alistair let out a long sigh, eyeing Arran suspiciously. She said nothing, merely started to hum a tune under her breath. Her head bobbed along as they headed back to the warden's tents, blue eyes flickering over the passing scenery. The walk wasn't particularly long, but for Alistair it was very awkward.

"Ah, you found her." Duncan said as they approached, and Arran broke into a wide grin. She disentangled her arm from Alistair's and trotted over to him, affectionately kissing the old man on the cheek like she would a father. She turned around and planted herself next to him on the logs, and the quickly fell into discussion about the upcoming battle. Alistair was not pleased to be hearing that they were sent on an errand boy's mission - but then neither were the twins. Duncan soon shushed them about that, however, and that was the end of that. As the discussion drew to an end, Duncan reached into his pack.

"This, was given to an old friend of mine." He said softly, pulling out a large silver flask, embossed with the seal for the house of Aeducan on it. "It contains dwarven ale, and he told me of a tradition where he and his men used to have a competition to see who could take the biggest gulp. This of course isn't the same brew that I drank with him, but it is something similar and has the same... flavour, I guess." He grinned, his face crinkling with it. He lifted it up in a toast to...the maker, possibly, and then threw back a mouthful. He grimaced, one eye opening and then the other.

"I remember once, not long after I had joined the wardens." Duncan began, his voice hoarse. "I was with the commander that had recruited me, and we were at a function at the Circle of Magi. The ceremony was incredibly dull, so half way through I snuck out. I explored the tower for a bit, the place being mostly deserted as nearly everyone was at the ceremony. In the end I ran into a rather attractive young mage. She was very...forward, and being the age I was I didn't need asking twice. We headed off to the apprentice dorms, and we were just getting to the interesting part when in stormed my Commanding officer, an older woman just catching us right in the middle!" Duncan then burst into a loud laugh, the smile on his face widening as he handed the flask to Arran.

Alistair and Isla's jaws hit the floor, had Duncan really just told a sex story? Arran seemed unaffected, beyond amusement, at the old man's story. Her own grin matched his, and she chuckled. "You dirty old man." She teased, before sniffing the mouth of the flask gingerly. She grimaced, and crinkled her nose. "Eurgh! What is this filth?" She eyed Duncan carefully. The man shrugged. "Something I picked up in Orzammar, I find it best not to read the labels."

Arran shook her head. "When I was... 15." She began, her blue eyes glancing from Duncan to Isla to Alistair, "I was madly in love with a boy in the alienage. He was beautiful, the most intense purple eyes you've ever seen, a quirky, cheeky grin, and he could almost, almost out run me around the alienage. I was determined to impress him, and knew that he had been eyeing a particular pair of boots in Alarith's shop. I had no coin and was determined to steal them. So one night I picked the lock and snuck in. I located the boots and made to escape, but ended up tripping over Alarith's cat, where I fell and clattered into a set of shelves. Well, I managed to wake him and his wife up, and they chased me from the shop. I ran as fast as I could, but paid no attention where I was going and ran straight into a cart where I tripped again, fell over and knocked myself unconscious on a rock. When I awoke father gave me such a thrashing for stealing, I could never look at that gorgeous boy again without getting a twinge on my backside!"

With that tale concluded, she tilted her head back and took a great swig of the ale. For a second she gagged on it, but managed to take one gulp, and then two. After she lowered the flask she winced, and shuddered, her shoulders rising up as she forced the fluid down. "By the Maker that stuff is disgusting Duncan." She grinned, before passing the flask to Alistair.

He looked a little nervous as he took the flask from her, unsure of it's contents. He had gotten drunk with Grey Warden's before, and found it a difficult, if not fun, enterprise. His tongue darted over his lips and he hunted his mind for a story. "Does it have to be embarrassing?"

"It has to involve either sex, or some sort of personal humiliation Alistair." Arran grinned, elbowing him in the ribs.

He whined, swirling the alcohol around in its container. "But I do that every day! Surely you don't need one in detail?"

The other three eyed him, grins playing upon all their faces.

"Fine!" He relented, throwing his hands up in the air. "Fine. I had only been in the warden's three weeks. We were in camp, in the Brecilian Forest and I had just been sent on a hunt with a couple of the other Wardens, Lewis and Dean. We were stalking a particularly cautious stag, with Dean and Lewis flanking it either side. The brush was pretty thick and I have never been any good at being stealthy. I'm just no good at it. I thought I saw the stag and rushed forward with the net I was carrying... Only for Dean to think that my crashing through the undergrowth was the stag and he let loose an arrow. It hit me right on the arse, burying right in. I howled and screamed like a baby, and needless to say the stag escaped wild and free. I couldn't sit down for a month."

Arran laughed, Isla laughed, and Duncan laughed. Alistair could feel the hot embarrassment flush his cheeks. Duncan slapped him on the shoulder. "Take a swig lad, it dulls the pain!" The young warden obliged, lifting the cask and taking the largest gulp so far. Isla was horrified to see him swallow not once, not twice, but three times. And then a fourth. Her mouth dropped open and Alistair pulled the cask away, grimacing and drawing a haggard breath in through his teeth. "Urgh." His voice was dry with the alcohol, and Isla could've sworn his eyes looked like they were watering. "Maker's breath." He muttered, "That is vile." And then he offered her the flask.

Isla glanced between them all, each of them expecting some sort of story from her. She sighed and took the flask from Alistair. "I remember when I was in the tower, I was taking my bath and I had to leave everything but the small towel I had outside the cubicle." She scowled as she remembered what Jowan, the little snake, had done. "My so-called friend had the idea that taking my clothes would be hilarious so, when it came for me to finish up I had nothing but that tiny towel that barely covered _anything!_" Isla sighed. "I somehow made it through most of the tower without being seen but just as I neared the final set of stairs, _Cullen_ bumped into me. You remember Cullen Arran, the red head. Yes of course you do! And there is me, almost stark naked standing in the middle of a hallway with nothing but a tiny towel covering the important bits, soaking wet and him standing there staring at me blushing almost as badly as I was. We couldn't even look at each other for over two weeks without us both running away with embarrassment!" With that over with Isla took a swig of the brew and gulped it down barely tasting it. A few seconds later she was up and running a few feet away from the fire before completely emptying her stomach near the mabari pen. "Maaaeraker!"  
Duncan threw his head back with a hearty laugh. "That's exactly what I did the first time I tasted dwarven ale!" He called, as Arran also fell into uncontrollable laughter. Alistair hopped to his feet and trotted after her, rubbing her shoulders and offering her his water canteen. "Are you OK?" He asked gently, a slight smile upon his lips. Isla snatched the water and gratefully rinsed the taste of vomit out of her mouth.  
"Don't coddle her Alistair!" Arran shouted over, a smile dancing on her lips. "She's a Grey Warden now, you gotta treat her like one!"  
Isla spat out the water. "Oh, go make love to a goat Arran!" She hissed, stalking back over to their fire, sitting down by it. Alistair trailed behind her like a wee lost puppy, reclaiming his water canteen.  
"So, what now?" He asked softly, "Do we carry on the game until we all pass out?"  
"If you like?" Duncan suggested, shifting off the log and lying on the ground, his shoulders resting up against it. He had removed his breast plate and had it lying flat beside him. He unbuckled his dagger hostler from around his waist, and laid it on the breastplate. Arran's eyes were quick to spot it, and she moved from her perch over to squat beside the old warden. She popped it out and examined it in the firelight. It was beautiful, cut from Obsidian, or some other beautiful black gem. She tested the edge, cutting herself with a sharp intake of breath. Duncan's dark eyes watched her carefully.  
"Where did you get this?"  
"He stole it from a First Enchanter, if I recall correctly." The voice didn't belong to any of those sitting around the fire, it in fact belonged to King Cailan. Everyone moved to leap to their feet, but the King flashed them a smile and raised his hands. "Please, no ceremony on my account."  
He wasn't dressed in his armour. Instead he wore simple grey leggings and a blue tunic, tightly belted at the waist. To Isla he looked almost normal, except for that wry grin on his face and the beautiful quality of his boots. His hair was tied back loosely in a pony tail, and his blue eyes flashed a sly look at Arran. She ignored him, instead focusing her attention on the dagger. "May I join you wardens?"  
"By all means." Duncan said, settling back against the log. "And you are right, I did steal it from a First Enchanter. It is a powerful blade, especially potent against the darkspawn."  
"You used it to powerful effect when you went into the Deep Roads," Cailan said, sitting himself on a log. "My father told me the tale when I was young."  
Duncan nodded, "Indeed. As was the sword you now carry your Highness, the runes upon it glow in the presence of darkspawn."  
"Does this mean we're all obligated to find funky anti-darkspawn weapons now? My precious Fang seems silly in comparison now." Arran weighted the dagger in her hand, swinging it around in a quick circle. "Not at all, dear one." Duncan grinned, reaching out and taking the dagger away from her. "You can rob my corpse of it when I die."  
Arran frowned at Duncan, reaching out and kicking him. "You shouldn't joke about such things." She scolded. "I'd take your boots too."  
Cailan laughed, and then gestured at the flask Isla still held in her hands. "Is that what I think it is?"  
"If you think it's some sort of beverage fermented from mabari piss, you'd be right." Isla grumbled, passing it over to Cailan's outstretched hand.  
"You've got a charming talent with words, milady." He grinned impishly.  
"You try learning five different dialects of Tevinter, Mi'lord and see how your english improves."  
Cailan laughed, "Ah, I see you sister does have a sense of humour Arran!"  
Arran grinned. "Only when she uses really big words, makes her feel important." She squealed suddenly, leaping to her feet frantically patting out a flame on her ass. She shot a glare at Isla, who only grinned and blew on the end of her finger. "Wheesht."  
Alistair rolled his eyes, and turned his attention to Caliph. "So, M'lord," He said, "Do you have a tale of personal humiliation to tell? Tis tradition, or so Duncan tells us."  
The king nodded, eyeing the flask fondly. "I had only just turned 13, and we were staying at Redcliffe." He paused, a frown etching into her features, a moment of recollection turned into very happy memory, and he wagged a finger at Alistair. "Actually, my friend, this tale involves you."  
Alistair's eyes went wide, his tongue darting over his lips, "Does it?"  
"Yes! You were there, in fact, and the the whole debacle was your doing!"  
Alistair gulped, and rubbed his hands over his face.  
Isla raised an eyebrow. "Care to elaborate your highness?"  
"Alistair is...well, was, the ward of my uncle Eamon. And I was visiting Redcliffe with my father, and Loghain. I was young at the time of course, and very impulsive. Poor Ali, you were even younger and very impressionable. I talked you into showing me where Eamon kept the key to his liquor cabinet, and I'm afraid we got very drunk of not very much brandy. Eamon had not been long married to Isolde, and in our drunken judgement we decided to raid her clothing chest and try on a few outfits." He laughed, and glanced at Alistair who was trying to disappear into his splitmail.  
"So THATS where the desire dress up and dance the remigold came, he made you do it once before!" Arran exclaimed, pointing at Alistair.  
Alistair just pulled his turtle-neck jumper further over his pink cheeks.  
"No..." Isla said cautiously, a grin creeping over her lips. "Cailan did it, didn't he?"  
The king laughed, "Yes, the lady mage is correct. I was actually in the middle of preforming the jig when my father stepped into the room. Naturally he was very confused, but then he spotted the barely touched bottle of brandy and reached a conclusion. To cut a long story short, he must have been extraordinarily bored with whatever everyone else was talking about and decided to join us in our drinking. It wasn't until Loghain discovered the three of us on the garden lawn singing "I've got the biggest balls of them all", or rather father teaching us the song that we felt a little bit embarrassed. The three of us were in Isolde dresses. I've never been able to look her in the eye since, that woman has a terrible taste in fashion. I think Loghain was more affronted that we were dressed in Orlesian fashion than in dresses."  
Arran giggle as Cailan threw back a few good swallows of the ale, while Alistair burned with embarrassment. Feeling sorry for him Isla patted him on the shoulder, the first act of kindness she had showed him the entire day. "You were how old?"  
"Nine." He mumbled.  
"It's alright, I know how you feel. Having a role model turn out to be an embarrassing trouble maker is always hard going. I know, I am there." She offered Alistair a grin and a glance at her sister, who was trying to convince Cailan to put his hair in plaits.  
Alistair glanced over to them, and exchanging a knowing look with Duncan, who just shrugged and offered a smile. Alistair returned it, after all, family always had to be embarrassing, didn't they?

_At the top of the tower Ishal. _

"What the HELL is that?" Alistair yelled, as the great ogre turned around to face them. The beast bellowed, and Arran frowned. "I dunno, but it sure is ugly!"

"It's an ogre." Isla said softly, covered in sweat and blood. She was not used to this – it was clear that Alistair had been in many battles, and Arran spent her days running. But Isla was exhausted, she wasn't used to casting spell after spell after spell, and Alistair was far too good at getting himself hacked up. She drained another lyrium potion, tossing the empty vial away. "I read about them in the tower."

"Right-o then." Arran said. "You got for it's throat, and I'll go for it's nads. Alistair, you gut it's stomach."

Isla shook her head. "No. It's hide is too thick. I'll just..." She waved her hand, casting a paralysing glyph on the creature. "Pause it. Go for it's eyes, watch out for it's teeth. And it's arms."

Alistair nodded, and sped off to intercept the beast, drawing it's attention away from the elves. Finding unknown reserves, Isla summoned up another electric bolt, hurling it at the beast just as it broke from the glyph. Arran bolted around the room, circling the great beast and going for it's back. She ran up to balance nimbly on it's large shoulders. She took one of her many smaller throwing knives, and plunged it into the beast's eye. It bellowed a roar of pain, and stumbled left, Alistair used the opportunity to leap up and bury his own blade in it's now exposed throat. It lurched wildly across the room, Arran hacking and slashing and stabbing at the soft flesh of it's face, before burying a blade deep within it's eye socket, pushing up into it's brain.

Again the Ogre let out a bellow, stumbling with it's arms swaying uncontrollably. "ISLA!" Arran yelled, but too late. The exhausted mage had not been paying attention, and looked up just in time to be swatted aside and into the wall by the Ogre's flailing limbs. Even above the chaotic noise, Arran could hear the crack of her skull against the stone.

"ISLA!" She screamed, leaping from the ogre's falling corpse to rush to her sister's side. Alistair ran to light the beacon, which flared to life. Hopefully the signal was not too late. He turned as the doors burst open, darkspawn swarming onto the top level. He was about to turn and yell a warning to Arran, but it was too late. Three crossbow bolt's pierced her armour, and she fell over the body of her sister. Alistair let out a war cry, rushing forward only to take an arrow in his chest. Then everything went black.

_A day later..._

"I won't believe it. I won't believe it until I see his body lying at my feet." Arran swallowed, staring out over the swampy marsh around Flemeth's hut.

"I assure you child, he is dead, along with the King and his Army." Flemeth was sitting by the fire, tending to the stew bubbling away.

"I don't believe you, witch." The elf spat.

"Arran...she's right. That many darkspawn...they didn't stand a chance." Alistair's voice was flat, deadpan. His eyes were red rimmed, his throat was raw. His stomach was heavy.

"I won't **believe** it!" Arran hissed, getting to her feet and walking to the edge of the swamp. She picked up a stone, and tossed it into the murky waters with a wet splat. "He wouldn't just die on me like that, he wouldn't. It'd be so rude."

"Rude?" Alistair glanced up at her, frowning. "Rude? What sort of thing is that to say?"

The elf turned around to glare at him, a frown deep on her features. "It's exactly what it is, rude! No final memorable parting words, no wisdom to take away with me! He wouldn't leave us with nothing, he just...he just wouldn't!"

"He didn't." It was Isla. She emerged from the hut, a bandage around her head and in her ruined and shabby mage robes. She leant upon her staff wearily, and was looking to her sister. "Duncan left us with each other."

Arran fell silent, as did Alistair. Isla moved to her sister and took her in her arms, where Arran broke down into fresh sobs.

"I may not have known him well, sister." She said softly, smoothing her sister's hair. "But I know what he meant to you." Her eyes moved to Alistair, noting that he looked like he was just about to crack too. She guided Arran over to where the Warden sat, and squeezed his shoulder with one hand, her other arm about his sister's waist.

"And I know he was just as important to you Alistair. And I promise you both, Loghain will pay for his betrayal."

Alistair tensed, drawing in a breath before he relaxed, turning his gaze to fix on Isla. Her face was set in an expression of grim determination, and with her sister now awake Arran seemed to be a little stronger. Well, the promise of revenge was something, wasn't it? He nodded silently. "So what do we do now?"

Arran sniffed, wiping her eyes. "We go kill Loghain, and then go get the archdemon. Easy."

"That's not a plan." Isla said softly, a smile touching her lips. "That's our goal." She ruffled the back of her sister's hair, and then let them both go. "We'll think of something."

Her blue eyes moved to Flemeth, who offered her a knowing smile. She knew the woman was more than she appeared to be, there was no doubt she was powerful to have saved the three of them from the tower. Isla could feel the magic rolling off her in waves, best not to piss her off then, she thought.

"You wouldn't know what happened to my pack would you?" she asked meeting the witches gaze. The witch grinned and nodded producing the tattered pack from a chest nearby and handing it too her.

"What's so important about the pack sis?" Arran asked, looking at her quizzically.

"Help, the treaties that Duncan sent us to find. They were still in my pack before the battle."

"Of course!" Alistair exclaimed, "We can use the treaties!"

Arran stared at them blankly. "Tretees?"

"Treaties sister, they'll help us build an army … to fight the archdemon, to save the world?"

"Oh … right now I get it! Treaties … good thing, gotcha!"Arran offered a two thumbs up.

Flemeth nodded, "And I want to offer you my help." Isla raised an eyebrow at the witch.

"Thank you, but you've really done enough already. Frankly, we owe you." "Consider it repayment for your lives, then." Flemeth said, and not letting them reply she went on, "I want you to take Morrigan with you." A silence greeted the old witch's request. "Ehh... Are you sure?" Alistair began, not sure he liked the idea of travelling with two mages. "Of course I am sure. You three need all the help you can get, and Morrigan is quite competent in her arts. You will find her extremely useful, of that I have no doubt."

"Do I not get a say in this matter, mother?" Morrigan muttered, walking over with a frown. "I would rather not go with them, if it's all the same to you."

"Nonsense child!" Flemeth snapped, "You will go where you are told, with less of your lip."

Arran hesitated, lifting a finger to speak and then thought better of it. Instead Isla said what was on her mind. "What if we don't want to take Morrigan?" "You will do it as a favour for me." Flemeth stated.

And so it was, Morrigan joined the Grey Wardens on their quest to slay the arch demon. No-one was particularly happy about it, but that was the end result.

* * *

_Thanks for the Reads and Reviews! Not to mention all the faves - we've been really flattered people like the story so much. It's meant to be a little silly and has totally taken on a life of it's own!_

_Sorry it has taken us so long to get the next chapter up, but between working, travelling and moves, our lives have just been chaotic! You've probably noticed a lack of updating in all our stories, collabs and invdually. D= But that will change, since we now have time, glorious time! Hope you enjoyed the latest chapter of Arran and Isla's naughty adventures. That Cailian, he's a charmer just like his daddy. And lets face it, the Therin boys all seem to have a thing for elves, right? xD  
_


	4. Chapter 4

Morrigan had been leading them through the Korcari wilds for about a day and half. They were headed towards Lothering, and the mood in the group was low. Alistair was not shy about hiding his distrust of the wild's witch, and Morrigan was not holding back on her contempt for the once-was-templar. Arran was depressed - her jokes were few and far between, and she kept disappearing off into the forest in search of solitude. Typically she came back with something useful; rabbits, wolf skin, interesting herbs. The pain of loosing Duncan was apparent in her every moment of the day, and Isla worried when she disappeared off without warning. She worried something would happen, and Arran wouldn't come back. Or worse, end up injured somewhere.

At the end of the day, however, she always came back. Her and Alistair seemed to find comfort with each other, reminiscing about Duncan, telling different stories, and laughing at how they both seemed to know the same, but different, man.

Isla found herself bonding, at least intellectually, with Morrigan. She was opinionated, bossy and stubborn. But Isla found her intelligence a welcome change in the conversation, and felt that there was a lot she could learn from her.  
"So you're saying that if I channel the magic in spurts rather than..." Suddenly Isla's gaze was focused on the sky. It had a pink hue. For a second the stink of dog filled her senses, and the sky was blotted out by the hairy mass of dog as it bounded away from her. Every part of her that didn't ache since the tower of Ishal now did.

"Puppy!" Arran squealed, the dog barking excitedly and bounding over to her. "Oh look who is a clever boy, finding your way all the way out here by yourself!" _Oh good encourage the feral hound_, Isla thought

Alistair came into view and looked down at her, a wry grin playing across his lips as he outstretched a hand to help her to her feet. "Are you alright?" Isla took his hand and stood. She stretched and felt the bones in her back and shoulders crack in response, at least the problem of her sore back was now fixed. She sighed and nodded at Alistair before scowling at her sister's continual cooing over the now bouncing mabari. Even after Flemeth's extensive healing they were in no condition for a fight so when the hair's on the back of her neck rose she cursed colourfully and turned in the direction her darkspawn senses pointed in. The hound had brought the darkspawn straight to them.

Alistair and Arran both turned a moment later and the usual unsheathing of swords and blades sounded their preparation. Morrigan came to Isla's side and motioned her to step back as Arran, Alistair and the hound stepped forward to intercept the eight hurlocks and two alpha's. Isla quietly whispered an incantation and as a weak ball of blue lightning crackled into life she glanced at Morrigan who had began chanting a spell Isla was unfamiliar with. An orange glow imbued around her and she transformed into a bear before running off into the fray with the others. Isla was left behind gawping only to throw her pitiful lightning bolt at a stunned hurlock who had tried to take down Arran. Her powers were still weak and little of her previous strength had returned through their "walk" through the wilds, Isla was exhausted but somehow she kept coming across the strength to continue. Alistair, Arran and the dog seemed to make a good team, Arran danced in, slashing and stabbing, while Alistair laid the death blows, with the help of the dog, who was clearly a formidable war hound. As the darkspawn lay dead around them, Isla looked to each of her party and examined their faces, all of them were tired save Morrigan and the hound who panted happily in front of Arran.

She decided they make camp at the next possible rest spot, and since Morrigan was the expert in these parts she should know of one, hopefully nearby. She lead them to a clearing within walking distance of a stream. Alistair dragged over some logs as Arran knelt to build the fire, chatting away to the dog the entire time. She talked utter nonsense, but the hound seemed to hang on her every word with the typical adoration of all dogs for their masters.  
"The dog seems to have picked you as it's new master." Alistair said with a grin, handing the elf a flint. She took it, and sparked the kindling into fire. "Naw," She said, her blue eyes glinting. "She's just got an ounce of sense. Hanging out with her fellow wardens."  
Alistair frowned, "Fellow wardens?"  
"Yea." Arran nodded, crouching down beside the fire and petting the dog's head as it rested in her lap. "Back at Ostagar, the kennel master asked me to find a flower in the wilds. She'd swallowed some darkspawn blood, and survived. So I guess she's as much a grey warden as any of us." Her eyes darted towards Morrigan. "Well, apart from Morrigan."  
Morrigan glanced over at them, from setting up her own fire. "Well, you can tell it's a grey warden just by the smell."  
Arran stuck her tongue out at her, before starting to skin a rabbit. "At least we work up a sweat, unlike some witches who just hide in the forest."  
Morrigan huffed, and opened her mouth. One finger pointed in an accusatory way at the elf, while Alistair threw himself to the ground with a paniced cry of "Don't turn me into a toad!"  
"Enough!" Isla growled, dropping some firewood to the ground, and planting her hands firmly on her hips. "Seriously, the toad thing? Where does that come from Alistair?"  
"Well..." Alistair peeked up from behind Arran, having crawled on his belly to use her as a shield. "Just. You know. You hear things."  
Isla and Morrigan exchanged a glance, with the witch shrugging. "Nevermind." Isla concluded with a sigh. "Shall I make dinner?"

_The Next Day..._

"Run toooo the Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiills!" Arran screeched, leading the way along the imperial highway toward Lothering. "Run for yoouuurrr liiiiiives!" The mabari, a great hulking hairy beast, mottled black and brown, with one blue eye and one dark brown howled along with her. She bounded happily around her new master, throwing her great maw back in happy barks and playful howls. Arran danced along to music only she could hear, although danced would be stretching the word. She skipped, hopped, spun, stopped to wriggle her hips back and forth and generally cavorted like a young filly let loose in the meadow the first time.  
"Arran!" Isla shouted after her, "We're heading to a village filled with refugees, fleeing the darkspawn, emphasis on the fleeing, must you sing that racket?"  
Arran ignored her, carrying on with her merry jig as the dog bounded onto it's back feet, paws on her chest. She spun it in a waltz, "We fought him hard, we fought him well, out on the plains we gave him hell!"  
Morrigan eyed Isla cautiously, "Are you sure that's singing?" She asked, as Arran moved further ahead. "It sounds like a genlock being raped, and then hurled off a cliff sobbing for it's salvation."  
Alistair brought up the rear, a little green around the edges. Isla's rabbit stew had not gone down very well. It hadn't come up very well either. But he didn't have the heart to tell her, she'd looked so pleased. Arran had fed her portion surreptitiously to the dog. At least the mabari had enjoyed it.  
"What is she singing?" He asked, finally catching up with the mages as the elf disappeared around a bend in the road.  
"It's a song our mother taught us, I think." Isla mused, a slight frown of recollection wandering across her features. "It's a Dalish song, about the humans invading our homeland. She sings a translation, since her dalish is pretty atrocious, if I remember. It's not exact, she's probably changed it quite a bit."  
Arran stayed ahead of the group, giving them some peace and quiet for the next 20 minutes. It wasn't until they came around the final bend before Lothering that they were presented with a scene of carnage. Three or four bodies lay scattered over the road in front of a blockade of carts and boxes. In the middle of the road lay a whimpering man, one leg clearly broken, and the mabari sat squarely on his chest. She panted happily, but he made to move away and the slobbery big monster bent down to growl in his face.  
As Isla stood gawping at the mess, a half smashed crate bounced in front of her, and fell to pieces. "Is this all you've managed to get?" Arran exclaimed, emerging from between two carts a pair of splint mail boots in one hand, and battered old hat in the other. "This is poor, really really poor! I mean, I know your stealing from refugees, but come on! Rich people are fleeing the darkspawn too you know!"  
"Arran!" Alistair exclaimed, trotting forward to join her, "What are you doing?"  
Arran dropped the boots and pointed at the stricken man, pinned by the dog, "He started it! I didn't have any money to pay his toll!"  
"There isn't any toll on the imperial highway!"  
"Just as well I didn't pay it then, eh handsome?" She gave him a wink, and walked back over to the thief, kneeling down beside him. He flinched.  
"You don't have any money Arran," Isla said wearily, walking over to peer down at the poor fellow, who offered her a smile.  
"Why do you get to keep the money purse?" Arran replied, raising an eyebrow at her sister.  
"Because I wouldn't pay silly tolls on the the road."  
Arran just stuck her tongue out at her sister, before turning her attention back to man. She started to rifle through his pockets, heedless of his whimpering protests. "Oh be quiet." She said eventually, her fingers having found something. She stood up, the pendant catching the light as it dangled from the chain. Her blue eyes peered at it curiously.  
"It's a templar emblem," Morrigan observed, interested in the shiny trinket. "I've seen it before."  
Alistair looked down at the man, "Where did you get it?"  
"Found it off a dead templar a little while ago. There was a dead templar by the road." The man spoke hurriedly, his eyes flickering between them but always lingering back to Arran. "There was a note too, it's in my pocket too, you can have it if you like. You can have everything."  
"Aw, now that's very kind of you!" Arran said, rooting in his pocket. Her hand went to the dog's collar, and pulled the mabari off him. Instantly she turned back into a soppy, cheerful beast and had a scratch. "Now off you go." Arran waved him away, the poor thief struggling to his feet, "And don't let me catch you and your silly friends making up more tolls or stealing from them that has nothing."  
Alistair narrowed his eyes at Arran, "Should we heal him or something? His leg looks broken."  
Arran returned his look, and tilted her head at him. "He was stealing from refugees. Maybe, one day when he's thinking of pinching an old woman's coin purse, his leg'll twinge and he'll think of me." She offered him a smile and an apologetic shrug.  
Isla had been reading the dead templar's note. "Here, I think this templar was looking for Andraste's Ashes."  
"That's a legend, surely?" Morrigan remarked, "There's no such thing."  
"The note mentions a Brother Genetivi, who has been searching for them. He was supposed to report to a Ser Donall in Lothering. We should probably let him know that one of his men has passed."  
Alistair nodded, and with that the troupe headed into Lothering. The town was desolate, groups of broken, exhausted people crowded around small fires for warmth. Smoke drifted into the sky, and as the group advanced they drew stares. Arran's eyes roamed around the village curiously, taking it all in.  
"I'll not be cheated!" A man's voice carried over to them.  
"You profit from their misfortune!" A woman.  
Arran's head turned and she headed in the direction of the ruckus, just in time to see a rather tall, burly man push a chantry sister. "Hey!" She shouted, upping her walk to a brisk trot, the dog lolling along beside her.  
"Isn't it nice how everyone is getting along in a crisis?" Muttered Alistair, upping his own speed to catch up with her. Isla and Morrigan followed suit. Further investigation revealed that the merchant was in fact selling basic essentials at obscene prices. Isla stayed her sister's interruption. "It's not our place to interfere Arran, we can't help every dog find it's bone," whispered Isla. Arran grumbled but she gave the merchant a glare that meant she would find him later when her sister was otherwise preoccupied. Isla then looked over to the Chantry, "Right Ali you check out this Ser Donall and give him this." She passed him the note and amulet she had stashed in her robe pocket and continued to look around the sullen village. "I don't want to tread on the Templar's fine graces, being a mage and all. We don't want to attract attention to ourselves. That means you too Arran." Isla narrowed her eyes on her sister, giving her a look that meant 'please don't get into trouble'. "We need some information before we can move on, you can deal with that Arran while Morrigan and I get some supplies. I'm sure the tavern will have some inebriated lout that could tell you something."  
"Fine" Arran muttered and she went off in search for the tavern while Alistair stalked off toward the chantry. Isla sighed, allowing herself a moment of peace before she turned to Morrigan, a weak smile on her lips, then gestured to the limited market "Shall we then?"

_Sometime later..._

The two magi browsed the meagre stalls in vain. The amount of refugees fleeing the south was huge, the old, the young and the sick were all crammed into the tiny village with its miserably ill equipped defences. They did manage to acquire two tents, some cooking and healing herbs and a number of other small utensils but the stalls offered little or no food. Isla sighed, they would have to somehow hunt for their own although she could kill for an apple or any piece of fruit for that matter. As Isla watched Morrigan barter with the merchants, out of the corner of her eye she saw Alistair exit the chantry and make his way towards them, his face set in a heavy frown. He told her that Arl Eamon was possibly dying and in a last attempt to heal him the Arlessa had sent the Redcliffe knights on a search for the Urn of Sacred Ashes. Isla was a little sceptical that such a relic existed but another thought was beginning to grow heavy in her mind. Where was Arran? She looked around for the tavern's customary overhanging sign and made her way towards the Dane's Refuge.  
"I'm sure Arran has found out something by now..." Isla said, pushing open the tavern door.  
"YEA! WELL, " Arran yelled, "SO'S YOUR FACE!" Isla watched aghast as Arran threw a wild punch in the face of the gentleman who had been arguing with the priestess.  
Stumbling the man cupped his now bleeding nose. "You little knife-eared bitch!"  
And within seconds several of his friends were jumping upon Arran, who went down under the sheer weight of several of them.  
"Arran!" Isla yelled, hurling a lightening bolt at them without thinking.  
Everyone paused, Arran pushing off one of her now unconscious and scorched attackers. "That's what you get for messing with Grey Wardens!" She growled.  
"Grey Wardens?" A red headed chantry sister approached them.  
Four men then stood up from their seat nearby and slowly surrounded the four travellers and the Chantry sister.  
"Didn't we ask about a pair of women by this description and no-one said they had seem them?" one said to his commander.  
"Aye and there was a third one and look, there he is." The commander pointed to Alistair. Teryn Loghain wants a word with you," Alistair gulped, "I've never been good at tavern brawls," he whispered in Isla's ear.  
Isla ignored him and cupped a ball of electricity behind her back while with her other hand pulled her sister to her side. "We're not going anywhere. We have a task to complete."  
"Gentlemen, these are surely just weary travellers fleeing the darkspawn and seeking refuge." The chantry sister answered, taking a further step towards the commander.  
"If it's a fight he wants then I'm happy to oblige!" hissed Arran who crouched into a fighting stance. Before Isla could stop her Arran pounced and slashed the commander on the cheek while Alistair took out the closest one with a clean left hook and the Chantry sister had entered the fray too. Within seconds the tavern was thrown into chaos and Isla summond a mind blast which propelled the Teryn's men away leaving the commander the only one standing. He didn't remain standing for long, Arran, ever the opportunist knocked him to the ground with a sweeping kick to the back of his knees, before leaping onto his back, grasping the man by his hair and raised her fist to land a blow to the back of his head.  
"ARRAN!" Isla exclaimed. "Control yourself!"  
Arran hesitated, glancing up at her sister, and to Alistair who seized the moment and kicked a man who looked like he was going to get back up.  
"Isla?" Arran queried, tilting her head but keeping the commander pinned to the ground.  
Isla groped for words, and it was Morrigan who spoke first. "So much for keeping a low profile." Isla then rubbed the bridge of her nose and shook her head before looking down at the commander. "Please, enough!" he pleaded.  
Isla didn't speak but turned as the sister moved forward sheathing her hidden dagger.  
"Good," she smiled, "Now we can all stop fighting."  
Arran scowled and tightened her hold over the commander, "Stop fighting! He meant to butcher us!"  
"Arran!" Isla growled, "Shut up!"  
Arran said nothing, but fell into a stony silence.  
"Yes, well." The chantry sister said. "They've stopped now, so how about you let them go?"  
"They're some of Loghain's men." Alistair said, stepping over to the commander, offering Arran a hand up to her feet, before dragging the man to his feet. His eyes widened as Alistair's narrowed. "You should report back to him." He said softly, "Tell him that the Grey Warden's know what he did."  
Arran stepped up beside Alistair, her own hands clenching into fists. "And tell him that we're coming for him."  
The man nodded mutely, before slinking off to gather his men and exit the tavern. Alistair and Arran exchanged a long glance.  
"We should get going." Morrigan said softly, "Before anyone else decides to try and kill us."  
"Agreed." Isla sighed, running a hand through her hair.  
"Wait!" The dirty fighting chantry sister stepped up to Isla, placing her hand on her shoulder. "I should come with you."  
"What?" Alistair said.  
"It is my fate." The Chantry sister smiled. "My name is Leilana."

_That evening, at camp..._

"Whose idea was it to bring the big stoic one?" Alistair grumbled around the camp fire later.  
"I like him," Arran said cheerfully, surreptitiously feeding the dog her portion of bacon that Isla had cooked.  
"You like everybody." Alistair retorted, spooning his potatoes onto the ground which the dog proceeded to hoover up.  
"I didn't like the quarter master at Ostagar."  
"Nobody liked the Quartermaster, he was a prick."  
"I didn't like Ser Jory either."  
"Ser Jory was..." Alistair hunted for _le mote juste. _  
"A simpleton?" Isla offered, joining them by the fire. Alistair quickly hid his plate.  
"Whew, I'm stuffed." He lied. Arran eyed him sidelong, a grin dancing across her lips.  
"Alistair," Isla offered. "Did you know that Arran brought a mass murderer with us?"  
Alistair's eyes swirled to Arran, who had suddenly filled her mouth with half cooked potatoes, and was munching them down with all the relish of a starving man. "Who'd he kill?"  
"A family." She replied, mostly incoherently through potato.  
The warden glanced over to the quanri who sat by the fire, seemingly staring at nothing with a frown. "Why'd he do that?"  
"Lost his sword." Arran swallowed, picking up her canteen and taking a long swallow to wash away the taste of the food.  
"He...killed a family...because he lost his sword..." Alistair rolled the words around in his mouth. "And you brought him with us?"  
"It was clearly important to him!" Arran defended the quanri.  
"The Quanri believe that their swords are their souls." Leliana, the chantry sister they had picked up, joined them. She smelt faintly of expensive perfume, of roses and flowers. Isla surreptitiously shifted a little way away from her, closer to her sister. The dog padded over and started investigating her hands for food, as other sources had now been exhausted.  
Arran raised an eyebrow. "Fair enough, that would explain why he was so upset. I'd be mighty murderous if someone took my soul."  
"You said he lost it?" Alistair sometimes was a devil for the details.  
"Well, he has. The family took it, but they didn't have it once he killed them so it's lost." Arran shrugged, rubbing the back of her neck.  
"We're not travelling across Ferelden to help the quanri find his damned sword." Isla remarked, idly stroking the top of the dog's head.  
"No..." Arran replied. "But I did say to him we would make enquiries as we wandered. So he agreed to come with us. A guy like him is always useful in a fight."  
"Yea, to hide behind." Alistair grumbled.  
"Or to reach the top shelves!" Leilana teased.  
"Hey!" Isla protested. "We're not that short!"  
"You might be, I'm not." Arran teased. For a second it took the joke a little while to sink in, but Arran had already moved to conversation towards travel to Redcliffe. After some discussion about the route, in which Isla had no say on account of her "Having lived in the tower too long."  
"There's...one other thing about Redcliffe that you need to know." Alistair said, looking awkward.  
"Hmm?" Arran was engrossed in cleaning her nails with a dagger.  
"It's about Eamon," He began.  
"You were his ward, we know." Arran replied.  
"No, it's not that, it's about my parents..."  
"You're Cailin's brother?" Isla blurted out. For a second everyone was quiet, and Arran frowned at her sister.  
"You said that out loud, Isla."  
Isla said nothing, her eyes avoiding Alistair's. His mouth hung open a little. "How'd you know?"  
"Just a hunch?" She offered, her eyebrows knotting together, a blush starting on her cheeks. "I mean, you *are* the total spit of him. And Maric. At least, the picture's I've seen of King Maric, anyway..." She babbled, before trailing off into silence.  
Arran grinned. It was a filthy grin. She elbowed her sister. "You had a crush on King Maric, didn't you?"  
"I did not!" Isla protested, her cheeks burning redder.  
"The mage doth protest too much..." Leliana chuckled.  
Isla hunched over her small mug of tea, letting out a long sigh. "And back to Alistair being heir to the throne perhaps?"  
A silence gathered around the fire. Arran frowned, and then shrugged. "What does it really matter? He wasn't raised in the castle, he was raised by Arl Eamon. He's still our Alistair, still Alistair the Grey Warden. We head to Redcliffe, see if there's anything we can do for the Arl and get the aid we need." Isla hummed in agreement. "Yea, you might be a price, Alistair, but you're still our boy who takes an hour in the morning to sort out his hair. Any other sordid secrets we should know about?"  
Alistair smiled, and nodded. _Our _Alistair... suddenly facing Isolde didn't seem so horrible after all. "Well, I have an unholy obsession with cheese?"


	5. Chapter 5

Arran's blade was stuck in a zombie's chest. Bringing her other about she cleanly sliced off it's head and the body collapsed to the ground. She stumbled with it a little, but with the corpse on the ground she braced her foot against the chest and heaved, pulling Fang out just in time to drive it through the eye socket of another creature.

"I think that's all of them!" Isla shouted, Arran's eyes following her latest kill to the floor. She turned, glancing over her shoulder at her sister. The passage behind her was clear.

Excellent. Arran grinned at her sister, wiping her blades clean and then crouched and started to go through the pockets of the long dead.

"Arran!" Her sister's shout of disapproval was getting old. She didn't look up from what she was doing. "You're looting the pockets of zombies!"

"Zombie's were once people too." She replied steadily, pulling out a ruby from one and waving it in her sister's direction. "People carry stuff."

Isla was quiet for a while, and Leilana, the bard, stepped up beside her. "That's...disgusting." Her face contorted into a sneer.

Isla watched her sister pocket more small trinkets and various little finds. She picked up a helmet from one of the corpses, peered inside, appeared to reach a conclusion and put it on.

"At least wash it out first Arran," Isla murmured steadily, "You don't know what's been rotting in it."

Arran hesitated, looking around at her sister. "Zombie?" She suggested.

"Take it off," Isla walked over and knelt down beside the corpse, her own fingers reaching into one of the creatures pockets. "Give it to Sten to carry, he's got the sack."

Sten indeed did have the sack, and Arran happily trotted over and handed it to the big stoic quanri. The man looked at her, at that beaming smile, before sighing, shrugging off the back pack and holding it open. It dropped in with a clang.

Alistair returned from further up the corridor, where he had been scouting. "Teagan was right," He confirmed, sheathing his sword and unperturbed by Arran's looting stepped around her. "The dungeons carry right on up into the castle. A door is locked.." He glanced pointedly at Arran who ignored him, "But we should be able to manage our way through. There's also a mage locked in one of the cells."

"A mage?" Isla's face contorted into a frown. "Why would Eamon lock up a mage?"

"Beats me." Alistair replied, and went on to make a suggestion when he was interrupted.

"Hellooooo...?"

The voice was familiar. Isla's stomach dropped down to her feet. Fury began to rise up and replace it.

"Is anybody still there? Please! Don't leave me!"

Isla pushed past Alistair and marched down the corridor, anger consuming her. "YOU!" She yelled, walking over to the cell that Jowan was lurking in.

"Isla? Thank the Maker, Isla!"

"You won't be thanking the Maker once I get my hands on you!" Isla launched herself at bars, narrowly missing Jowan's throat as the bloodmage darted to the back of his cell.

"Don't be angry with me!" He pleaded. Isla hit him with the end of her staff instead.

"OW!"

"I should kill you right here!"

At this point Alistair and Leilana stepped up beside her. "Isla?" Leilana said softly, placing one hand on the elf's upper arm.

"Alistair! Open the door so I can kill him!"

"Arran!" Alistair turned, shouting over his shoulder. "Your sister has gone crazy!"

Arran plopped a steel breastplate into Sten's sack. The quanri sighed. "She'll be fine!" She shouted back, "But I need another sack!"

"To hell with the sack!" Alistair shouted, "Leave it. We'll get it later!"

"But someone other than me might take it!"

"Peasharra," Sten said quietly. "Everyone here is dead, who would take it?"

Arran glowered at the Quanri, ignoring the muffled protests of her sister as Leilana and Alistair attempted to hold her back.

"The dead people we just killed could come back you know?"

"ARRAN!" Alistair bellowed. The warden threw up her hands in protest.

"Alistair!" She shouted back in a mocking tone, before turning around and striding over to her sister. She stood directly in front of her furious sister, arms folded across her chest. "What's up grasshopper?" She nodded to Leilana, who un-clamped her hand from over Isla's mouth.

"It's JOWAN!" Isla spat, her face red with anger. It wasn't very becoming, Arran thought. There was a speck of foam in the corner of her mouth.

"The rabid look doesn't suit you Isla," She said softly, before running the name Jowan through her head. Realisation dawned.

"Jowan!" She exclaimed, before turning around and waving at the dark haired mage who cowered in the corner of his cell. "Hi Jowan!"

"It's not "Hi Jowan!"" Isla spat, "It's let Isla kill-" she said cut off as Leilana clamped her hand over her mouth again. Isla sagged in the arms of her companions, resigned to letting her sister take the lead.

Arran thrust her hand through the bars at Jowan. "You're the one to thank for letting me get my sister out of the tower!"

Jowan, terrified, glanced at Arran's hand. Her fingers waggled invitingly. "Well? Can I shake your hand? You're awesome!"

In utter silence Jowan regarded the blonde, grinning elf. Tentatively he reached out and shook her hand. The small hand twisted around, grabbing his wrist and hauling him forward.

"My sister wants to thank you too!" She declared, just as Isla escaped the lay sister's grip. Her fist connected with Jowan's nose, a sickening crunch echoing throughout the dungeons. The mage stumbled back, his vision reeling.

"Ow!" Isla shook feeling back into her hand, her anger quelled by the pain. She eyed the growing bruise, before healing her fist just a little. She looked at Arran, who was grinning. "It was worth it." She muttered in response.

"Good, lets go." Arran said, stepping around them all and heading further up the corridor, "I bet there's some living people with really awesome stuff beyond the locked door. Maybe one of them has another sack Sten can carry..."

"Are we just leaving him there?" Alistair pointed towards Jowan, watching Isla hurry after her sister.

"Yes!" The mage hissed, not looking over her shoulder.

"But, he might have information!"

"He's been locked in the dungeon, handsome." Arran called, turning around to look at him. She continued walking, but backwards. "He's not escaped, therefore he is not in league with whoever is summoning the dead. So it can be assumed he knows even less of what is going on than us. Come on, a sack is more important."

Sten trundled past Alistair, joining the sisters. Leilana shrugged, and trotted off after them.

"How is Sten going to fight carrying two sacks?" Alistair found himself hurrying to catch up.

"I can put them down." Sten replied, seemingly quite happy to be used as a pack horse.

Morrigan slipped up to Jowan's cell, eyeing the cowering, bleeding excuse for a mage. Her eyes narrowed. She unlocked the door, and stepped back.

"Get out of here. We don't ever want to see you again." She growled.

Jowan fled.

_Sometime later..._

Alistair had never expected to fight Teagan. Not Teagan, who had introduced him (without knowing it) to the Stone Temptress. Teagan was like the naughty uncle who taught him how to sneak out his bedroom window, and where to hide his...erotica collection.

Not the man who was coming at him with a sword. Desperately he stepped to the side, lifting his shield to deflect the blow. He heard Arran's battle cry to the left as she hacked and slashed her way through the soldiers. Sten was protecting his back, and he smelt burnt flesh as Isla threw a fireball. Spinning around he hit Teagan on the back of the head with the hilt of his sword, and the man crumpled.

The rest of the fight was brutally one sided. Teagan groaned at Alistair's feet. "Isla!" He yelled, "Can you heal him?"

Five minutes later Teagan was sat cradling his head, groaning softly. Other soldiers who had been knocked out rather than killed were also regaining their senses. Arran and Isla stood beside him, silent. The dog was sniffing at something behind the throne. Alistair didn't care.

"Teagan, are you alright? What happened?"

"It was like he was in my head!" Teagan said softly, peering up at Alistair. "Pulling strings, I couldn't help myself."

Alistair looked to Isolde, who was about to burst into tears.  
"He's been like that ever since Eamon got sick... It's...It's like he's possessed or something."

"He is possessed you ridiculous woman." Morrigan said softly, her tongue darting over her lips. "By a demon. Your son must've let him in, somehow."

Then it all came spilling out. Isolde revealed how Connor had started to show magical abilities, and rather than send him off to the circle she had hired an apostate mage to teach him just enough to hide it. How Connor, suddenly, had become a monster overnight.

"He's an abomination." Isla said softly.

"Then we have to kill him." Arran said flatly, without hesitation.

Shocked, Isla snapped her eyes to Arran. "He's a child!"

"No..." Arran said with a shrug. "He's a demon. Or rather it is a demon."

"Alistair, tell your servant to watch her tongue!" Isolde snapped.

Without a glance Alistair snatched Arran's wrist out of the air, preventing her from breaking Isolde's nose.

"I'm not a servant!" Arran hissed, "I'm a Grey Warden!"

Isolde's eyes narrowed at the blonde elf.

"Don't hit the Arlessa." Alistair said softly. "It's an easy mistake to make."

This time it was Alistair who felt Arran's glare. Her eyes were locked onto him as she stood on Isolde's foot.

"OW!" The Arlessa squealed.

"Arran! Stop it!" Alistair was aghast. Arran twisted her foot, before Alistair dragged her back a step.

"Maybe next time you'll think before you open your mouth." Arran glowered at Isolde. The woman said nothing, merely sank back onto the throne and lifted her foot to rub it.

"But what are we going to do about the demon?" Leilana queried,

"He doesn't need to die." Morrigan said softly. "If we can reach the fade, we can perhaps fight the demon. But we don't have enough lyrium or mages."

"The tower," Isla said, a little too enthusiastically. "The tower has lyrium, mages and the circle is part of the treaties. We could kill two birds with one stone, so to speak."

"Of course!" Alistair exclaimed. "The Circle is obligated to help, great plan Isla!"

Leliana frowned and looked between the mage and the ex-templar. "What about the people here? We can't just leave them with a demon-child."

Isla mulled it over, looked around the room and then at her companions. "Morrigan will stay." The party looked at the wilds witch who folded her arms and glared unapprecaiativly at the elf. "So I'm to babysit the demon-spawn, how fitting," she grumbled.

Isla shrugged, "Well you could come to the tower but somehow I don't think they'd let you walk out."

Arran sniggered at the witch and Morrigan merely raised an eyebrow. "Your ability of foresight does you credit tower brat." Isla grinned and nodded. Teagan however looked at the door to the family quarters apprehensively.

"I don't think we could contain him without help."

Isla nodded and sighed before rolling up her sleeves again. "We'll sort that out." Alistair quickly stepped in behind her with Arran and Morrigan closely following.

The family quarters were exquisite, Isla thought. Tapestries adorned the walls and expensive plates graced wooden display cabinets.

"Why do suppose they need all the plates?" Arran whispered. "It's not like the Bradley's with their twenty children."

Isla frowned and turned to look at her sister, "The Bradley's?"

"You know, the Brady bunch, in the alienage." Arran explained.

"They only have six kids though," Isla pointed out. Arran grinned and shook her head, "Nope, not anymore. Last count it was seven girls and eight boys."

"Maker's Breath, that poor guy," Alistair said, his mouth agape. Morrigan snorted and glanced at him "I pity the poor woman, all those births."

"She said after the ninth one they just start sliding out." Arran replied unpertubed. Isla stared at her sister, momentarily disgusted by the image, she could see both Morrigan and Alistair were thinking the exact same thing. However Arran, undisturbed by her comment merely picked up an amulet on display and deftly put it in her newly acquired sack.

"Arran!" Alistair chided, "That's Eamon's!" The elf shrugged at her fellow warden and smiled. "Well he's not using it, we could and I reckon it could buy us some nice supplies at the next town. Or would you like to keep your socks with the holes in them?"

"I could do with more socks." Alistair conceded, letting out a sigh.

"Thought as much." Arran replied, pausing to admire something shiny.

It didn't take them long to find where Connor had ran to. It was strange for Alistair, being back here. It reminded him of a fairly happy childhood. His face contorted into a frown as Sten pointed up the stairs that lead towards Eamon's room, suggesting that the boy went that way. He nodded, and up they went. Sten automatically took point, with Morrigan and Isla pushed towards the middle, Alistair making sure to watch their backs. Leilana stuck with them, almost possessively clutching her bow and arrow to herself. Arran seemed to just vanish, her footsteps falling silent and her breath out-with Alistair's hearing. He didn't know if she was behind him, or had trotted further ahead and really was in point.

Sten halted them by raising his hand. Isla crept forward to peer around him, and in the middle of the room there stood Connor. He looked remarkably like Teagan and his eyes were wide and scared. "Connor?" Isla offered, stepping forward. Sten grunted, but Morrigan followed the elven mage. "Connor is that you?"

The boy nodded, and lifted one hand. "No! No, don't come any closer. She'll only get mad."

Isla nodded, crouching down in an attempt to coax the boy closer to her instead. "We're here to help you Connor. What does she want?"

"For us to be left alone!" The boy took a step back. Alistair saw that behind him was Eamon, in his bed. He swallowed and walked towards Connor.

"Connor, I'm Alistair, remember me? We met occasionally when Duncan would come to visit. I'm a Grey Warden. This is Isla. She's a Grey Warden too." He nodded to Arran who was circling around behind him. She hesitated, and offered a little wave.

"Please," Connor said softly. "You'll only make her mad!"

"Can I check on Eamon?" Alistair was moving towards the bed, "I just want to make sure he's alright!"

"NO!"

But it was too late, something... something happened. The demon emerged, letting out a bellowing roar.

"Stop disobeying us!"

She hovered in mid-air, mostly naked with purple flesh covered in writhing tattoo's. Her horns curved upwards and her hips swayed. She swung around to Alistair, one finely clawed hand extended in an accusatory point. "You! You are not doing as I say! You're going to ruin my fun!"

Alistair was flung backwards, caught unawares and unprepared. He crashed into the wall with a clang, and slipped to the ground. He groaned softly.

Leilana unleashed a volley of arrows, some of which missed their marks, others only grazing the demon's skin. With a growl of anger the she-demon charged them, Isla and Morrigan leaping to the left while Sten stood his ground and took the worst of the blow. The quanri let out a battle-cry and swung his sword wildly, dashing forwards. Arran attempted to circle around and leap upon her back. She hopped in with a cut here and a cut there, deftly avoiding the flailing of limbs and the screeching of anger.

Isla stood, lost and with no direction. Morrigan began to hurl spells, unsure which would work but was trying them all – most of which were easily adsorbed or deflected by the demon as she spun about to knock Sten to the ground with a surge of magic. The quanri stumbled backwards, fell and didn't get back up.

"Alistair! Do something!" Arran yelled, hopping from the ground to briefly run across a sideboard which was instantly blown to smithereens by a fireball.  
"Like what?" He yelled back, ducking behind his shield to avoid an arcane bolt which left it singed and dented.

"You were a templar! I thought abominations were your speciality!"

"Never dealt with one before I'm afraid!" Alistair rushed forwards, ducking out from behind his shield in an attempt to slice the demon's head off, and was once again thrown against the wall. He landed awkwardly on his leg with a crunch of bone. Leilana was similarly taken out, having taken up Arran's strategy of dancing in and out in an attempt to wear out the demon. Death by a thousand cuts.

"Throw whatever you can at her!" Morrigan shouted at Isla, spurring her finally into action. The elf-mage nodded, and reached for the fade just in time to see Morrigan's own magic flung back at her. She was drained, her mana gone. Exhausted she crumpled in a heap where she stood, grey faced and weak.

It was just Isla and Arran left. For all that Arran was quick, the demon was stronger and without Morrigan peppering her with magic she was free to hunt down the annoying elf. The demon spun around, caught in a chase like a dog with it's own tail. Arran hopped off the wall and leapt over her head, only for the demon reach out and snatch at her ankle. Claws ripped through flesh, another arm coming down on bone to snap it cleanly in two.

Arran cried out, her face contorted into agony before she was dropped to the ground. The she-demon grinned, advancing forward. The dog leapt at her, attempting to savage the creature advancing on her master, only to be swatted aside like a bothersome fly. The demon was going to kill Arran, and she was helpless to do anything about it.

Unable to stop herself, Isla summoned all her magic and let it loose. Lightening danced and leapt forward, a storm contained into a single moment and battered into the demon. She shrieked, hurtling through the air before hitting the wall and folding into a heap. The demon faded, and all that was left was the broken, dead body of Connor.

For a second, the eyes of the child stared at Isla. Her stomach lurched and she was sick.

Isla had just killed a child.


	6. Chapter 6

The commotion had attracted Teagan and the few soldiers that still had their mental faculties. It brought Isolde, who let out a cry of anguished and rushed forward to Connor. She lifted his charred body into her arms, sobbing freely and wailing.  
Isla just stood and stared, her eyes unbelieving as Teagan approached her. He gingerly placed one hand on her shoulder, and she gestured. "We were just, trying to get him to come closer so we could put a paralysis glyph on him. Alistair went too near to Eamon and the demon erupted! I-" She began to stammer, feeling tears prick at her own eyes. "I didn't mean to! I- I was aiming for the demon! I was trying to subdue it, but she had already knocked everyone else out, I..."  
The next thing she knew, Arran and drawn her into a hug. Her arms had enveloped around her and Isla let out the sob.  
"Shh, shh..." Arran whispered, her own face grey with pain. She was carrying her weight on her one good leg hands brushing over her sister's hair. The elf offered Teagan a weak smile. "It was the demon or us, Teagan." Arran said gently. "There was no choice. I'm sorry."

_That evening, at camp._

It had helped, having to heal everyone after. It kept her busy – reminded her that what she had done was right. If she hadn't put the demon down she would've killed them all, and then Eamon would have no chance. There would've been no chance for Ferelden either, with it's only three wardens dead the blight would have advanced and consumed all the lands.  
The fact that the blight might still consume all the lands was still a distinct possibility, and one that hadn't escaped Isla's attention. She threw a handful of salt into the stew, grateful that the cooking was now occupying her attention. Arran had caught and skinned a couple of rabbits, and Morrigan had dug up some herbs and it was all bubbling away nicely.  
Arran flumped down beside her, and rubbed the back of her head.  
"Ya know, I didn't want to stay in that daft castle anyway. I mean, how many dead bodies did that place have lying around? We killed hundreds of the damn zombies! Hundreds. Dad would say that it was very unhygienic."  
Isla frowned, and raised an eyebrow at her sister while she lazily used magic to stir the stew. "Yes."  
"Besides, I don't think Alistair would've liked to stay there either. Too many memories I guess. I found this..." She presented Isla with a rather fragile looking locket. "Do you think he wants it? I think it's that amulet he talked about breaking when he had a tantrum. Looks like someone glued it together."  
"Where'd you find that?" Isla's eyes widened. It really was a very pretty locket, all carefully put back together.  
"Eamon's desk. In a locked drawer that mysteriously popped unlocked."  
"Arran!"  
Arran offered a smile, and kissed her sister on the temple, "Imma give it to him. I wouldn't get much if I sold it anyway, and I bet he'd like it. Funny though, it looks Orlesian to me rather than Ferelden. Where would a serving girl get an Orlesian locket anyway?" She shrugged and wandered off, talking partly to herself and to the dog. The dog occasionally made a noise of agreement, and a bark. Morrigan was the next to join her around the fire. The witch eyed Isla carefully, before gingerly sitting next to her. She folded her arms, and drew in a breath. Besides Sten, the young mage was the only Warden of higher intelligence she had to go to, Alistair she despised and her sister was insane. Morrigan could not stand her sitting there moping about something she could not have changed.  
"You did very well, for a tame mage." she began.  
Isla grunted in response, stirring the stew again.  
"You acted on an instinct to protect. Your strength came through when you needed it most."  
Isla shrugged, and sat back to let the stew bubble. This cooking thing was rather dull, all in all. Morrigan's nose crinkled in annoyance.  
"It wasn't you that killed the boy."  
"Oh?" Isla stated turning her head to look at the wilds witch. "And who charred poor Connor's flesh? Who was given the accusatory glare from his mother as she held him dead in her arms?"  
"The demon killed him." Morrigan stated, matter of factly. "You should remember that. The demon could have protected him even from such a blow. But instead she withdrew in fear and let the boy die." Morrigan's yellow eyes sought Isla's, and held them until she seemed satisfied that Isla believed her.  
Isla wasn't sure that she was.

_The next day, on the way to Denerim._

Zevran Arainai was quietly confident. The mission seemed simple enough – kill any remaining Grey Wardens. As far as he was aware there were three- a foolish boy, a young mage and a former city elf. How hard could it be? Crouched by the cart, the stink of dead oxen filling his nostrils he mutely regarded his fingernails.  
"Help help! Bandits have taken my children!"  
There we go. His decoy was luring them in, perfect.  
Wait for it, wait for it. The horrible cracking of the tree as it fell into place, blocking them in to the killing ground. With a leap he emerged from behind the cart, drawing his crossbow and levelling the bolt at the blonde mage. Better to take out the spell caster before she managed to chant a spell.  
"The Grey wardens die here!" He bellowed, the cue for his band of assassin's to emerge.  
The look of surprise on the blonde elf's face was perfect. He missed his mark of her throat by just an inch, the mage had moved. The other warden, a tall hulk of a man yelled out a warning, pulling out his sword and his shield. Surprised, the mage touched her fingers to her shoulder where the crossbow bolt centred a dark spreading stain. She shouted something inaudible to him, and collapsed to her knees.  
Zevran grinned, and reached for his throwing knife and sword. A tap on his left shoulder momentarily stole his attention. He spun, only to see a silhouette. "Surprise!" And then a fist flew towards his face, connecting his with nose with a sickening crack.  
For Zevran Araini, everything went black.

_A short while later..._

"OW! OW THAT HURTS!"  
"Oh stop whining, it's not that sore."  
"You try having an arrow in your shoulder!"  
"I have, many times when I was a wolf, now stop your petulant squirming. Really, someone would think you had never been injured before."  
There was a brief spell of silence.  
"I Haven't! I lived in a tower most of life! And I don't remember the tower of Ishal."  
"Oh, you're a big baby." This was a different voice, a lyrical musical voice. "Even Soris can take more pain than you!"  
"You're not the one with an arrow in your-OW!"  
"See, pulled out nice and quick. Now, Morri, would you be so kind?"  
Zevran risked opening one eye. He could feel himself tied against a tree, and knew instantly he had already been stripped of all his weapons. Shame it wasn't his clothes either, but then one could only hope for so much. He groaned, deciding to announcing his state of consciousness.  
"The assassin is awake..." That was a male voice. Zevran opened both of his eyes, and into his vision swam the features of a young man, with brown eyes. His features were wrinkled into a frown, and he could see the beginnings of worry marks on the man's face. He glanced away, standing up and backing off.  
"It's a crow!" That was an Orlesian accent.  
"That's not a crow! That's an elf."  
"She means an Antivan Crow, Arran." This was a tired voice, it was the voice that had been complaining of injury. The mage. Zevran tilted his head, peering over to the group. Sat down was the blonde mage, one hand clutching her shoulder while a dark haired scantily dressed woman cast healing magic over her. So, two mages then. Well, that narrowed his chances a little bit. The man who had originally been peering at him had wandered over, and was helping her to feet.  
"So you're an assassin then? Not a very good one, are you?" It was that lyrical voice, coming from his left. Snapping his head around Zevran looked into a pair of brilliant blue eyes. This elf was the double of the mage, but there was something...different, about her. Her eyebrow was raised, her elbows resting on her knees. She eyed him with nothing but undisguised interest.  
"Well?" She asked him again, tilting her head.  
"Apparently so." He replied, letting a smile touch his lips.  
"Defiantly Antivan." It was the Orlesian red head again.  
He let his vision wander back, and the group was now closer to him. All eyes upon him with varying degrees of interest. A mixed bunch of misfits if ever he had seen any. A man, two women, the two elves and an insanely large white haired Qunari that radiated the word stoic.  
"And you would be Orlesian, no?" Zevran let a hint of sarcasm creep into his voice as he turned to pretty red head. "It is so difficult to tell around these parts, everybody sounds the same."  
The elf to his left giggled. "I like him."  
"Arran!" It was the mage. She was now standing in front him, eyeing him like one looked at a horse. "Who are you? Who sent you to kill us?"  
"You're a master of interrogation I see, but my dear lady mage unfortunately I wont break that easily."  
The elf next to him gave him a sadistic smirk, "Not if I break your nose."  
"Ah my dear one, you already saw to that," he grinned.  
"I can break something else, like your..." That sadistic grin widened, her eyes glancing downwards, "toes?" she finally offered.  
"You can't break his toes, he needs them!" the mage snapped. Zevran couldn't help but consider that the mage had missed the joke. By now he had realised that the two elves were in fact twins, though vastly different. This could be fun.  
"What about his fingers? He doesn't need his fingers, right?" the elf offered.  
"He needs his fingers! Goodness sake Arran," the other replied, clearly exasperated.  
"Thumbs?"  
"No, not his thumbs!"  
"How about I cut his face?"  
"I can't believe your standing discussing how to torture someone in front of them!" This was the man, a deep frown etched on his face. "If he's not going to talk, we'll just leave him tied to the tree."  
"I don't see Isla coming up with any other plans..." This was the first elf, who must've been called Arran, Zevran surmised. She flashed him a grin and a wink. "Besides, I think he's the type that'd get out the ropes and chase us down."`  
"You're right about that, Milady." Zevran agreed, then he had an idea.  
"Oh joy, another flatterer..." The dark hair witched grumbled, before turning off to go and sit on a log.  
Arran grinned at him. "Well, at least his wit is better than yours!"  
Isla sighed, her blue eyes focusing in on the Assassin. He shrugged. "Alas my dear mage, I will speak to you, and tell you who sent me and even how much they paid me."  
"Oh?" The mage raised an eyebrow. "Go on."  
"But it will come at a price. I wish you to take me with you, spare my life and I pledge to serve you until you decide to release me, or I die."  
"I don't need a servant." The mage growled, obviously not impressed by the idea of his beautifully toned body waiting on her hand and foot. "I need soldiers."  
"I am an antivan crow, my skills are yours to command."  
"Wait a second!" The man interjected looking between, Zevran and the two elves, "You're going to let him come with us?"  
The Mage turned her gaze on him, her eyebrow still raised, "You would rather I left him and he came after us in our sleep? Besides, he looks like he could be handy in a fight."  
The man rubbed the bridge of his nose, "Are you sure about this Isla?"  
"Alistair," she sighed, "it's either we take him with us, where we can keep an eye on him, or one of us dies during the night and Arran hunts him down and kills him tomorrow. Do you really want to try and hunt her down?"  
"Valid point." Alistair conceded, with a weary sigh. "Very well."  
Arran sliced the tree's bonds, flashing him a smile. "So, who sent you?"  
"A rather powerful fellow, Teyrn Loghain I believe."  
Arran's grin vanished, her face turned to stone. Her blue eyes fixed on his and something in Zevran's stomach turned. He looked away from her, and she moved off to start going through the pockets of the dead. Well, at least one of them was a practical individual.  
The mage let out a long sigh again, and nodded. "Alright, untie his hands. Lets keep on moving, it's going to take us a while to get to Denerim."  
Zevran was then untied, and he bowed to Isla and to Alistair. "My name is Zevran Araini, and I promise I will not disappoint you."  
"You better not," The elf-mage warned. "Else I think my sister will gut you. I'm Isla, and this is Alistair. That's Morrigan, Leilana and Sten. My sister is Arran."

_That evening._

They crested the hill, and settled down in the valley lay Denerim. The fading light from the sunset set the little city off, and Isla felt her heart crawl into her throat. Would they visit the Alienage? Would anyone recognise her? She drew in a deep breath, just as Arran lifted one hand. "Halt." She called out, turning around and nodding to a surprised Alistair. "We'll make camp here."  
"What?" Alistair exclaimed, gesturing to the town. "We can make that before sunset. At least sleep in a warm inn?"  
Arran shook her head, walking past the group. "I'm not going to Denerim. I'll stay here with the assassin and Sten."  
Alistair frowned, his hands raising in a gesture of disbelief. "What? Arran why not? Don't you want to see your family? I though you were from Denerim?"  
Arran stopped, her boots scraping on the ground. Blue eyes peeked out from stray strands of blond hair. "I'm not going to Denerim, Alistair. And that's the end of it." She moved off to select a spot for her tent, the dog trotting off to the nearby brush to hunt rabbits.  
Sten also moved off to follow Arran, as did the assassin. Alistair looked to Isla, who shrugged. "I'll go talk to her. We'll figure something out. And to be honest, we have a price on our heads. I bet the Antivan isn't the only one that will try to gut us given half a chance."  
Alistair made a soft grunt of approval, and with everyone else moving around to settle themselves with tents and other things, Isla pitched her own tent. She always struggled with the tent, and wordlessly Arran aided her. Her face was grim, her lips tight. She said nothing once it was done before she moved off into the forest to chase up some dinner. The dog bounded off with her. Zevran took it upon himself to make the fire, and as always Morrigan had made her own little fire some way apart from the rest of them.  
Isla stood, peering out at the tree-line to see if she could spot her sister. Eventually she gave up, and just headed in the direction her sister had gone. Tentatively she wasted a little magic to cast a scrying spell, and located Arran not far from a small stream. She had caught two pheasants, and was plucking them with vigour. She headed over, pausing to scratch the dog behind her ears.  
"Are you OK?"  
Arran let out a small sound that sounded like a snort crossed with a shrug. One shoulder moved. She rubbed the back of her head and sat down beside her sister, tongue darting over her lips.  
"Why aren't you going to go into Denerim?"  
"How much to you remember about our mother?"  
It was Isla's turn to frown. "I..." She hesitated. "I remember she always smelt like pancakes. I remember how dad used to grab her into a cuddle, and waltz with her around the kitchen. I remember her laughter, and how she never worn an apron like all the other mums."  
"She wore a knife baldric, that's why." Arran grinned softly.  
"Did she?" Isla sighed tracing a pattern on the soil with her fingertip. "What do you remember about her?"  
"Me?" Arran sighed. "I remember her as a warrior – she was always telling me to look after you, make sure that you didn't fall, or that you didn't spark up in front of anyone. 'Arran, don't let Isla go out alone, Arran, what have I told you about getting Isla all excited and sparked up?'" Arran offered a tired smile. "She was always instructing me about what to do if templars turned up, or if people stated asking too many questions. She taught me how to fight, and I always remember her and dad arguing about it. Dad kept telling her that I should be allowed to be a child, raised up to be a proper woman. Learning how to cook, not to take out a man's eye in two movements."  
"I've been taught how to turn a man into a pile of ash in one movement."  
"Show off." Arran said wearily, "But I don't think dad wanted that for either of us. He wanted me to get married, have sprogs and generally be quiet."  
Isla snickered, "You, quiet? Never going to happen!" Another grin, "Married even less likely."  
Arran shrugged, "I am married you know."  
Isla choked on air. "What?"  
"Well...was. It wasn't a very long relationship,"  
"You didn't kill him, did you?"  
Arran frowned, "No..." She sighed. "Vaughan did."  
Isla had no words, she gawped at her sister for a second, and saw how her blue eyes refused to meet her own. Her features contorted into a frown, and she reached out and brushed her finger's against Arran's. Her sister ran one hand over her face, before returning the gesture by patting the back of Isla's hand. She remained silent.  
"You killed him, didn't you?" Isla whispered, "Vaughan?"  
Arran nodded, still refusing to meet her gaze.

_Vaughan's hands were covered in blood. His own intestine slithered between his fingers as he desperately groped them back into his abdomen. His stomach bulged over it, and he let out a strangle sob. Arran's boot connected with his shoulder, forcing him back down onto the ground. "You think I would take your money?" She hissed, the man ignoring her growls and sobbing as he attempted to staunch the wound with his hands. "You think you could buy me off, after everything you've taken from me? First you kill my mother, then you take my family, and now you would steal my future and the honour of my kin? I only wish I could heal you with magic, so that I might make you suffer forever!"_  
_Her own fingers were covered with blood as she reached into his wound, ripping out organs, flesh and entrails over his legs. Vaughan made inhuman noises of agony as her hand buried deeper within him. It wasn't until he stopped struggling that she stopped, and spotted the crossbow bolt buried deep within his eye socket. Slowly she turned, and Soris... sweet Soris... He stared at her like she was a ghost._

Arran shuddered, teeth biting down on her lower lip. Isla's finger's entwined within her own. "I'm proud of you, Arran." She said softly, "For being able to do what I couldn't. I'd have loved to have hunted down that bastard and made him suffer."  
"Don't worry, he suffered." Arran assured her. "He suffered greatly. Don't you worry about that. But now you know why I can't go back into the city. Duncan," She hesitated, pulling her hand away from Isla and standing up. "Duncan saved my ass. He stepped up to the guard and 'conscripted' me, on the basis I would never return to the city. Valendrian and Cyrion..." She trailed off, offering Isla a hopeless look. "Even Soris. After what I did, I can't face them. Abandoning them like that. Leaving father with a murderous, savage daughter. I wouldn't be surprised if my anger made everything a lot worse for everyone in the Alienage. I hope that no-one has suffered because of me."  
Isla let out a long sigh, and smiled gently at her sister. "I'm sure they are. I'll find out when I visit tomorrow, won't I? I can take messages for everyone if you like?"  
Arran nodded. "After dinner I'll write some letters. Wish I could've said goodbye to dad properly... I was pretty much just dragged out of there. Darn Duncan and his Blight."  
Isla elbowed her sister. "How long you going to be plucking those birds? If I don't start cooking soon I think Alistair will end up eating his tent."  
"I doubt that." Arran muttered, and when the look of incomprehension emerged on Isla's face she stopped herself. "He'd probably just raid the dried food first!"  
"There's not enough bird here to feed eight of us, so we'll have to make a stew." Arran changed the subject, producing a knife and beginning to gut the carcasses. Isla's face crinkled into a frown. "I'll go start boiling up some vegetable then. I'm sure Morrigan mentioned finding some wild turnip type things."  
Arran nodded, "I'll be back in a minute, just need to finishing cleaning the birds." She tossed some gizzards to the dog, who swallowed them down ravenously. Once she was sure her sister was out of ear shot, she eyed the dog. "At least one of us is going to eat well tonight."

When Isla got back to the camp, everyone was sitting warming themselves by the fire. Alistair looked up at her with a quirk of his eyebrow. "Everything OK?"  
Isla nodded, and reached for her pack and started to unpack the cooking utensils. "Yea. Turns out she's a bit of a fugitive, so if she wanders into the city the guards will be all over her."  
Zevran interjected, raising his index finger as he spoke his point. "Forgive me, Lady mage, but with you indeed being Arran's identical sister... could they not mistake you for her?"  
Isla shook her head. "People rarely see past the robes and the staff."  
The assassin shrugged as Arran returned, with the two birds and a canteen of water. She upended it into the pot and nodded to the group before flopping down beside them. As her sister began to make the stew, she withdrew her dagger and began to sharpen the edge. Alistair took his que and disappeared off for a wander in the forest.  
Leliana seeing the ex-templar walk away pulled out her small harp and began plucking the strings in a simple soothing melody that Isla began to hum too as she moved around the fire, throwing in large chunks of vegetables into the pot. Sten continued to patrol the outskirts of the small camp, his tall foreboding figure casting a long shadow across the companions. Morrigan, as usual did not join them.  
"So how is it that you two found one another again?" the assassin asked, trying to break the incredibly dull atmosphere.  
Isla glanced at her sister and the twins shared a silent moment. Neither answered the elf.  
"Was it exciting at least? I imagine you, Arran would have performed a daring rescue attempt, yes?"  
A grin tugged the corner of Arran's lips. She glanced sidelong at the elf, who tilted his head and made a small encouraging noise. "It was rather daring." Arran conceded. "I crossed lakes and scaled cliffs, defied templars and defeated a knight-commander!"  
"You didn't defeat a knight-commander." Isla chided. "But you did kick Wilhelm in the privates."  
Zevran laughed. "Oh my, I bet he will remember your beautiful kick for many years to come."  
"More likely he will remember having his arrogant bitching ass kicked by a girl," Arran replied.  
"And elf" her sister added "He was a racist pig." After checking that her stew had been properly stewed to death, Isla began pouring out bowlfuls of it. They all took it wordlessly, Alistair arriving and subtly dropping a sack by his feet. Isla quickly threw her own portion down her throat, and Zevran approached his bowl with similar gusto. He hesitated as a drop of drool landed on his foot.  
The mabari was staring at him, her mouth hanging wide open, tongue practically at her knees..  
"Tabris, I don't trust you could do something about the mutt?"  
"That's a pure bred mabari war hound, Arainai!"  
"Nevertheless..." Zevran said softly, tasting the eagerly awaited stew. He paused and was about to spit it out when Arran elbowed him in the ribs.  
"Swallow it and pretend you like it, Arainai if you value being an intact adult male."  
With a sidelong glance at Arran, the assassin swallowed his mouthful and set his bowl cautiously on the ground. The dog darted forwards and started to greedily gobble it down. "Oh what a shame!" Zevran lied, badly. "It appears your greedy war hound has eaten my share of the stew. Perhaps there are some biscuits I could have instead?"  
Isla finished her bowl of stew and shook her head. "Sorry Zevran, we can't afford biscuits." She set her bowl down and hopped to her feet. "I'm going to go and chat with Morrigan for a while." She disappeared off, and Arran watched her go. Once she was out of sight and earshot, Alistair let out a long breath. At the same time Sten, Leilana, Arran and the ex-templar himself all sat their bowls down on the ground. The dog happily rushed to consume the rest.  
"What did you find today Ali?" Arran queried as he reached for the sack. He pulled out some various fruits, and some other raw vegetables. He began to hand them around and everyone started to tuck in.  
"If it wasn't for Alistair and his strange ability for successful foraging, we'd be starving." Leilana explained to a bewildered Zevran.  
"Has no-one said to her that her Stew is poison?"  
"We like to think of it more of a Ferelden death stew. We're assuming mage;s don't know how to cook, and she's been trying to apply her potion lessons to cooking."  
"But why don't you tell her she's a terrible cook?" Zevran watched as Alistair handed the raw food around. He watched as Ali glanced at Arran, who shook her head. Then he leant back and began to crunch on an apple.  
"We couldn't do that..." Leilana said gently, peeling her own apple, "She's had a very hard time of late, we couldn't hurt her feelings"  
Zevran watched them eating. "And why aren't I getting any?"  
"We don't like you yet." Arran grinned, and winked at him. She nodded towards the still bubbling pot of stew. "There's some left."  
Zevran narrowed his eyes at Arran, then laughed. "Give it time, mi mariposa, you will like me well enough."

* * *

_MouseMage and I would like to thank everyone who is reading this series, and commenting on it! We love all your reviews, and happily take any more! Let us know what you think, whether it be good or bad. And don't forget to check out Mousemage's other stories at _.net/u/2250619/. _You can also find out other joint peice, "Once Upon a Time..." Which is a comedy romance featuring a grumpy cousland and a silly ali. Thanks again! _


	7. Chapter 7

_Isla was in the fade. She knew she was in the fade, she could control the fade but for some reason she couldn't stop this dream. The darkspawn were swarming, she must've been in the deep roads. She watched a dragon fly over them, screeching and screaming with sounds that shook her to her very core. The mage turned to her sister, who was facing the opposite direction. She held out one hand to her, but Arran didn't respond. Isla tapper her on the shoulder, and instead of her sister turning around to face her it was a genlock. It hissed and lunged for her throat._

Isla woke up with a start. Her heart was pounding in her chest. With a groan she rolled upright, and was grateful for the warmth of the fire._  
"_Bad dreams, eh?"_  
_Isla's eyes moved to Alistair. He was sat on the opposite side of the fire, one arm resting on his knee. "More like a nightmare." She said softly in response, looking to her sister's bedroll. Arran was still sound asleep, although her eyes were darting back and forth under her eyelids._  
"_I heard you thrashing around in your sleep – and I figured you were having the dreams." Alistair sighed. _  
"_The dreams?"_  
"_All Grey Wardens seem to have them, dreams about the darkspawn. It's to do with the taint, and why we can sense them. When we're asleep most people dream pretty vividly, especially since the start of the Blight. It's how we know this is a real Blight, we see the Archdemon. I think it's calling to the taint."_  
"_Was that what the dragon was?"_  
_Alistair nodded, and offered her a smile. "They do fade, well, other wardens have told me that they do. They get less vivid. Or at least you learn to ignore them."_  
_Arran grunted in her sleep, and rolled onto her back. She twitched a little, her fingers curling into fists. Isla wondered if she should wake her._  
"_Anything else I should expect?"_  
"_Well, I had an increase in appetite, but nothing else. I used to sneak down to the kitchens at night I was so hungry. I'm still never full."_  
_Isla chuckled. "I figured the hunger was just from all the extra exercise I was doing."_  
"_Well, that could be it too." He offered a smile. Isla returned it._  
"_NO!" Arran sat bolt upright, both hands extended, "Don't eat it Soris! That turnip is a darkspawn disguised as a carrot! It'll eat your teeth! It's dangerous! Just like the stew!"_  
_Alistair jumped out his skin, and Isla did too. Isla went to move to her sister just as Arran let out a sigh and flopped back down onto her bedroll. She was sound asleep again in moments, muttering away under her breath._  
_Alistair and Isla exchanged looks. Isla laughed, and then so did Alistair.

_The Next Day..._

"This is Denerim?" Isla breathed, her eyes wide as they stepped inside the gate. She paused, only for Alistair's hand to push her shoulders from behind.  
"Don't linger in the gateway, Isla. We're getting in people's way." He propelled the gawking mage forward.  
"There's so many people!"  
"That's why they call it a city." Growled Morrigan under her breath, striding forward and leading the way.  
"It is a great city." Leilana smiled back at her, "Andraste was born here, many flock here because of that."  
"Must you link everything to that dreadful false prophet?" The witch snapped, grabbing Isla's wrist and dragging her to the side of the stream of people attempting to enter the city.  
"It's so busy!" Isla continued, ignoring them both.  
"That's because a lot of people think they'll be safer here in the city from the darkspawn." Alistair explained.  
"It's so BIG!"  
"Will you dissist with your open mouthed gawking!" Morrigan spat, "I though you born here!"  
"Well … yes but I've not been here in years, and we never really left the alienage, and I don't remember it being like this..."  
Alistair let out a long sigh. "Come on, we should probably start asking around about Genitive's whereabouts. Maybe someone at the Chantry will know?"  
"Must you drag me there?" Morrigan moaned,  
"Well, why don't you go to the marketplace and sell some of the junk in those sacks that Arran gave you?" Morrigan glanced down to the dog, who looked indignant at having been attached to a small sled which Arran had crafted that morning. She whined, and scathed pointedly at the makeshift harness.  
The witch nodded. "Very well then, come along Dog."  
"And take Leilana with you!" Alistair interjected, "We don't need you being arrested for being an-" He hesitated, realising that yelling apostate in a public place wasn't a very clever idea. "An inconvenience!"  
The witch glowered over her shoulder at him and stalked off, the Orlesian trotting after her. "Alistair! That wasn't very nice." Isla chided.  
The other warden merely grinned and shrugged. "Better than calling her what she is, right?"  
Isla narrowed her eyes. "After all," Alistair carried on, "It's not very gentlemen like to call a woman a bitch in public, right?"  
The elf laughed, and rolled her eyes. "Come on then..."  
"Um, before we go..." Alistair was fingering his mother's locket, the one Arran had found. It was strange to see a grown man in full splintmail armour wearing something like that. "Do you mind if we make a little stop?"  
"stop where?" Isla was dreading the answer.  
"I'm pretty sure my sister lives in Denerim..."  
"Sister?" Isla tilted her head.  
"I mean, only if we have time! I mean, I know we're busy with the Blight an' all-"  
"Don't be silly Alistair! We'll make time," Isla replied smiling up at him.

_Back at Camp..._

"Heel, toe.. Heel, toe, step two three, and burly burly...OW! That was my foot Sten!"  
Sten sighed, and glanced down at the tiny person in his arms who was glaring up at him. Her scowl deepened.  
"Shall I lift you up so your feet do not run under mine?"  
"They're not running under yours! Yours are running over mine!" Arran cried indignantly.  
The great quanri let out another long sigh. "Vashada'an."  
Arran glared, stepping back into the start position, with Sten holding her hand over her shoulder, and her other hand in front of them.  
"Right, now," She started again, "It goes heel, toe, heel toe..."  
Intrigued, Zevran poked his head out his tent, where he had been doing some light reading out of the chilly Ferelden breeze. He watched in bewilderment as Arran proceeded to dance around the camp with the Quanri, in some sort of local dance that seemed to involve spinning and marching forward. It looked like fun. Although the Quanri's attempts at polka were a little disturbing, as he seemed to be nearly crushing the elf with his stoic movements rather than flowing as the dance intended.  
"What on Thedas are you two doing?" He declared, climbing out of his tent.  
Arran paused, and flashed him a smile. "Teaching Sten how to dance the Dashing White Sargent of course!"  
She released the Quanri from his lesson, and he fled. Well, briskly walked to the edge of camp which was probably the Quanri's equivalent of fleeing. Zevran approached, glancing at his nails as he approached. He smoothed down his hair a little too. "That only be-gets the question 'Why' mia mariposa..."  
She quirked an eyebrow at him, folding her arms across her chest and shrugged, "Because he doesn't call me names? Why, are you jealous?"  
"Not at all, mia cara, I am already quite an accomplished dancer, here..." He went to unfold her arms and pull her into a waltz when she suddenly leapt left, diving to the ground and dragging him down by his shirt. An arrow sailed over their heads and hit a tree behind them with a heavy thunk.  
"Bloody Bandits!" She growled, scrambling to her feet and over to her backpack, over which was draped her knife baldric. Hauling one out she threw it in the direction of the arrow and a faint scream indicated that she'd hit her mark. Another, louder scream suggested that Sten had found someone to take his frustrations at his dance lessons out on.  
"Bloody bandits indeed," Zevran muttered as he reached for his own bow and quiver.

_Back in Denerim..._

"I still say you should've let me turn her into a toad!" Isla fumed, her hands balling into fists as they exited Goldanna's house.  
"Isla, no. People would notice, that's not right." Alistair replied glumly.  
"We can't really do that." Isla sighed, folding her arms as they walked across the square. Alistair paused, and turned to look at her. He offered her a weak smile. "I know." He replied softly, "but still. Somehow I thought that would go better."  
He looked like someone had kicked his puppy and then stolen his lolly. Isla reached out and gripped his shoulder, as she had often observed Arran doing. It must've been a Grey Warden thing, or at least something Alistair seemed to find a bit of comfort in. He gripped her wrist and the touch was strange.

"Alistair..." She didn't know what to say. "Everyone is out for themselves. Not everyone is willing and eager to help, and not everyone holds family in the high regard we do. Goldanna... She's clearly had a hard life. And it's turned her into a twisted egocentric bitch. Forget her."  
Alistair's face contorted into a frown. He sighed. "I suppose you're right." He muttered, stepping away from her hand. "We should go find the others, see where they've got with trading, or even Genetivi's house."  
Isla nodded, her arms folding across her chest as they started to move across the square. "We might have some luck in the Alienage, Valendrian quite often moved around the rest of Denerim, failing that we could try the-"  
"YOU!"  
Isla sighed inwardly. Someone was always shouting at them. A tall blond man strode towards them. He brought with him the slight smell of ale, and his face was slightly red with anger. Or drink. He also had a very formidable beard. He was pointed directly at Alistair, and marched past Isla and poked the warden on the chest.  
"You filth! You left the King to die! You filthy warden!"  
Alistair blinked, taking a step back and gawped. "I assure you Ser, we did nothing of the sort. We were lucky to get away with our own lives!"  
Isla was about to interject when the knight interrupted her.  
"I, Ser Landry, require satisfaction from you, you cur, for abandoning our honourable king to the Darkspawn!"  
"Why would Grey Warden's side with the darkspawn!" Isla cried, only for Alistair to wave a hand at her in a rather annoying fashion.  
"I accept!" He spoke over her. "Name your place Ser, and we'll duel and the Maker's hand shall guide the sword of the one who speaks the truth!"  
"Oh for Andraste's sake!" Isla cried but the two men continued to ignore her and she groaned into her hand.  
"I shall meet you whenever you are ready in the alley behind the Gnawed Noble Tavern." The man nodded and bowed, before leaving. Alistair bowed in return. "You shall not wait long!"  
"Wait long for what?" Leilana said, coming behind them as the knight disappeared off.  
"Alistair just agreed to a duel!" the elf-mage exclaimed.  
Morrigan sighed and rolled her eyes. "Fool."  
"I will not have the honour of the Grey Warden's impugned by the likes of him." Alistair's eyes narrowed. He was determined.

_Meanwhile with Arran..._

"STEN!" Arran yelled, throwing the Quanri a sword, which he caught smoothly before bringing it around in an upper cut to slash open an overeager bandit. Zevran ducked into a roll, withdrawing an arrow and notching it to his bow as he rose, letting it fly loose into the nearby tree line.  
The camp, as always, had been picked sensibly. Arran was the one who always picked the camp spot, Isla was the leader but Arran was the one who called a halt to their marching. She had picked her spot well - they were up against a rock edge well tucked in from tree line but close enough that they could bolt if needed. This left three faces open, but it meant the could back up against the "wall" and not worry about any attack on the flank, and it was up here that Zevran backed now.

Narrowing his eyes he searched for the tell tale spots of movement in the foliage. "I count four in the trees!" He bellowed, watching as Arran's own eyes scanned the tree line. The camp wasn't terribly big, and it was with a growl he loosed off another couple of arrows at movement. Blue eyes glanced back at him, and with that Arran ducked into the trees.  
She crouched low, hitting the floor on her belly and letting herself drift quietly into the background. Holding her breath Arran listened for sound, or rather the lack of it that suggested someone was lurking nearby. She spotted one creeping forward. His vision was concentrated on camp, through the site of a crossbow.  
The elf moved slowly and quietly to her feet, grabbing the man she smothered his mouth and quickly and sharply stabbed him the jugular before letting him sink to the ground twitching. The rustling of the leaves attracted his companions and Arran slunk back as three more rushed forwards. Sten burst through the undergrowth at them and suddenly all was a commotion as the two of them were surrounded. Sten swung in great sweeping arcs, both hands gripping the massive great sword as he chopped off the head of first one bandit, then another. Arran spun herself, kicking one on the knee and opening his throat as he fell. Between them the group stood little chance, their bodies falling to the ground easily.  
"Warden! I say, Grey Warden!" Zevran called from the camp as the body count increased.  
Arran pushed forward and peered through the foliage. Zevran was quickly being surrounded by several other... They were too well dressed to be bandits. They must've been mercenaries.

_Behind the Gnawed Noble Tavern..._

Alistair fell back underneath Ser Landry's brutal onslaught. The man was a very accomplished swordsman, and Alistair had underestimated his speed. Frantically he held up his shield, letting the other man rain his blows down. He anchored himself to the spot, before he felt a hesitation and surged upright, pushing Landry back and then ducking out from behind his shield to quickly slash at the man. It was a move that required no talent and sheer brute force, but Alistair found that it worked effectively. Having forced him back the warden threw his shield aside to give himself a little more leeway. Spinning the blade he rotated his wrist, and leapt to the left, feigning an attack from the left and going for the right.  
Ser Landry didn't fall for it, and parried easily to swing around and knock Alistair on his shoulder.  
"Alistair!" Isla cried, only for Leilana to gently grasp her by the wrists.  
"Shhh," She whispered. "You don't want to interrupt their concentration. It is a duel, each man stands on that field alone, with only the faith of Andraste in his heart to guide him!"  
"Pffft." Morrigan disagreed. "Tis nonsense. Ser Landry is the more skilled swordsman, but Alistair is quicker and stronger. The outcome should be close."  
Isla wrung her hands. She bit her lower lip as Landry and Alistair exchanged blows. Landry lunged, opening up a cut on Alistair's face. Lifting her hands Isla fought the impulse to heal him as once again Leilana's hands stayed her.  
With a growl Alistair spun around, gripping the pommel of his sword with both hands. He swung it wildly over his head in a move he had seen Duncan do a hundred times before, and it left him open. Landry lunged, the point of his sword slicing through his armour and into his hip.  
Alistair's own sword sliced cleanly through Landry's neck, separating his head from his shoulders. But it was too late - the pain exploded from his side and Alistair fell to his knees with a groan.

_The others were surrounded by enemies..._

"Come here you filthy cocksuckers!" Arran yelled, running from the tree line brandishing her dagger. Sten followed, bellowing some sort of Quanri war cry. Together they rushed the surprised Mercenaries who thought they had gained the upper hand. Slashing and cutting Arran kicked another in the crotch and he crumpled. Zevran joined suit, dropping his bow and arrows and reaching for his daggers. He opened the throat of one, becoming a dancing whirlwind of daggers.  
Within moments the three of them were drenched in blood, and surrounded by bodies. Sten had a few cuts to his upper arms, and Arran had a cut to her chest. Zevran was bleeding from several wounds in his legs and arms, but nothing serious. For a few seconds they stood panting, glancing around themselves to check the area was clear. Arran caught Zevran's eye, and offered him a smile. He nodded, sheathing his daggers and moving off to check the bodies for any survivors, and to despatch them.  
"Keep one alive." Arran said softly. "Although I have a sneaking feeling I know who sent them, I want to know how they knew where we were." Her eyes narrowed at Zevran as he nodded. "Speaking of which, I need to know how *you* knew."  
The assassin flashed a debonair grin. "I shall reveal all to you, mi mariposa, very soon."  
"And stop calling me that!"

_On the city streets..._

"Stop scratching it!"  
"But it's itchy!"  
"If you keep scratching it, the wound will just get infected and I'll have to heal it again." Isla's eyes narrowed as she watched the dog walk down the street sniffing at the houses. She wasn't sure how the dog would know which one was Genetivi's,  
"Nugggh!"  
Isla unhook her staff from behind her and without looking smacked the templar on the shoulder, hard.  
"What was that for?"  
"Well at least it stopped you scratching, keep it up and I'll let Morrigan have a go."  
The ex-templar mumbled something under his breath and Isla, satisfied that her placebo worked followed after the hound. The dog stopped at a door that looked like any other, and sat. She turned and looked over her shoulder at the following humans, and then at the door.  
"This must be the place." Morrigan said softly, folding her arms. Her eyes glanced sidelong at Alistair, entertaining the notion of being allowed "To have a go" at Alistair. A smirk danced across her lips.  
"Stop looking at me like that." Alistair grumbled, as Leilana stepped forward to knock on the door. "Brother Genetivi?" She said softly, knocking again.

_At camp..._

"Who sent you?"  
The one surviving mercenary was tied to a tree. His ankles were bound and his hands were tied up above him. A rope went from his wrists above his head, over the high, thick branches of the tree. Sten stood on the other end, pulling it tight. The man groaned, his shoulders ablaze with agony.  
"Who sent you?" Arran asked him again, raising an eyebrow.  
"Teyrn Loghain, to complete what the elf failed to accomplish." The man strained against his restraints, trying to stand on his feet. Arran waved at Sten, who pulled him just a little higher preventing him from doing so.  
"How did you find us?"  
"An elf... in Redcliffe, reported he saw you! Heard from the arlessa's servants you were looking for Genetivi..."  
"The name of this elf?" Zevran tilted his head.  
"I don't know!" The man cried, gritting his teeth against the pain.  
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"  
Arran turned around at her sister's voice, the Dog came bounding over and Arran grinned, dropping down to one knee to greet the animal.  
"We were attacked," Zevran explained, gesturing to the dead bodies piled to the side. "We're trying to find out how they found us."  
"By torture?" Alistair's eyes were wide.  
"He wouldn't talk when we asked him nicely." Arran said softly. "Not like mister spill his his guts there."  
"I wasn't paid for silence!" Zevran retaliated, he nodded to Sten, who let the man down.  
"Still!" Isla exclaimed, "You could have waited till we got back! I'm sure Morrigan knows of some truth serum or potion."  
Arran frowned, "Well … you weren't here to ask so I made an executive decision."  
"Executive decision! You're torturing the man!"  
"And a good job if I don't say so myself," piped up Zevran. He was busy cleaning his nails while the two sisters argued it out. He sighed to himself, and exchanged a look with Morrigan, who shrugged and sat down by the fire.  
Leilana decided to interrupt the argument. "Look!" She gestured to the sack of goods she had bought. "We bought things! Lots of things!"  
"Just a second." Arran pulled out a thin stiletto knife from her thigh. Isla had always wondered what it was for. She grimaced as Arran turned around, and sunk it into the captive man's cartaroid artery. She knelt silently beside the man as he died, her hand clasped over his mouth. He twitched a few times, and then lay still.  
"Was that really necessary?" Isla exclaimed, staring wide eyed at her sister.  
"Of course." Sten backed Arran up as he moved to scoop up the dead man and move his body with the others. "He would only report to his commander."  
Isla pointed at Zevran. "You! Are a bad influence!"  
The assassin was shocked. He opened his mouth, "Excuse me?"  
"You! Ever since you turned up, Arran has been doing horrible things!"  
"Oh, leave it out Isla." Arran protested, groping about in the bag Leilana had handed over to her. "Duncan always said that Geralt always said never let your assassin's report their failure's back. I would've killed Zevran if you hadn't been there."  
"Geralt?" Isla asked.  
"Geralt, I don't recall Duncan ever mentioning a Geralt." Alistair frowned.  
"Oh, you know Geralt." Arran waved a dismissive hand, lining up the purchased potions and unwrapping something. "Tall guy, white hair, scar down his face. Geralt. Geralt of Rivia."  
Leilana and Isla gasped. "I don't know of any Geralt of Rivia!" Alistair whined.  
"How can you not know of Geralt?" Leilana stammered, "He's only the most celebrated demon hunter in all of Thedas!"  
"It could be any Geralt!"  
"Yes because just any Geralt wanders around with White hair, enchanted swords and is a known womanising potion drinking witcher!" Isla growled.  
Arran shrugged. "Yea, Geralt."  
Isla gawped at her sister.  
"Oh hey! Silk dresses!" Arran changed the subject, hauling out a beautiful blue silk dress.  
Leliana sighed, "Yes, that one I thought would look beautiful on Is-"  
Leliana was cut off mid-sentence by the sound of fabric being torn. This time it was her turn to gasp and her hands flew to her mouth.  
"Silk makes the best bandages! C'mere Zevran!" Arran hopped to her feet, and chased after the assassin who ran away.  
"Not blue not blue!" He teased, "It clashes with my eyes!"  
"Noooo!" Screeched Leliana quickly grabbing back the ruined gown. "This was for Isla! Look, Morrigan and Isla can heal the wounds just not the dresses!"  
Arran backed away from the lay-sister, she was becoming hysterical and let her have the gown. She looked to her sister who just shrugged equally unnerved by her behaviour, obviously before joining the Chantry Leliana had experienced the finer things in life. She wouldn't have survived in the alienage Arran thought. She sighed and looked over to the assassin who had now sat near the wilds witch and was being begrudgingly fixed up. Isla was already moving over to Sten while Leliana continued her rant in Orlesian.  
Arran pouted, folding her arms and glancing over to Alistair. Her fellow warden quirked an eyebrow at her, and tilted his head. She spread her hands.  
"Whaaaat?"  
"Dress? Isla?"  
"Yes … well she's been tripping over the end of her robes for days so Leliana thought she'd buy her something shorter."  
"And now I'm afraid it might be too short!" Leliana grumbled. Arran looked over her shoulder and actually looked at the dress, or mage robes she had picked out for her sister. "Good luck getting her into them," she grinned. The robes were far too short now, two large slits up the side to the hip line and a very low neckline with some sort of corsetry design in the centre and fur-lined shoulders. Her sister would never wear anything like that by choice what had the sister been thinking? Leliana pouted.  
"Trust me..." Arran went on, plucking the robes from the lay sister, "When the opportune moment arrives, I shall present her with these robes. Meanwhile, I would suggest you maybe say to her about lifting the hem, or cutting it shorter."  
Leilana frowned at Arran as the elf winked at her, and then hopped off. There were bodies to be tended, new supplies to be investigated and progress to be caught up on.

_That night..._

"I want to learn how to use a sword."  
Arran glanced up from her terrible mystery soup. Could they not have bought a ham instead of stupid dresses? She raised an eyebrow at her sister. "Excuse me?"  
"Today, when I was watching Alistair duel Landry. He got injured...and back in Redcliffe, I might've not had to use magic if I could use a sword." Isla fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve.  
Arran eyed her sister like she had just farted her way through the Chant of Light.  
It was Alistair who spoke up. "Um...are you sure Isla? It's not easy to pick up."  
Isla snapped her head up and scowled at him. "Nothing is ever easy Alistair but it would make me feel better knowing that you lot don't have to worry about me every other day."  
"Why? Your a mage you've enough magic to probably blast us to the black city and back." Arran offered, while grimacing at the soup.  
"That's my point! I've enough magic but when it runs out I'm more or less useless. I might as well offer myself up to the darkspawn as an appetiser!" Isla growled.  
"I'm not doing it Isla!" Arran protested, shaking her head.  
"Fine … I'll find someone who will." Isla turned on her heel and trudged over to the ex-lay sister. Alistair leaned over and quietly spoke to Arran, slight concern in his voice.  
"Aren't you going to stop her?"  
Arran shook her head while throwing in a number of chunky herbs. "Naw … she'll be fine. In five minutes she'll come back and tell me I was right."  
"I don't know, she's now tied her hair back and Leilana's handed her a short sword." Alistair remarked, pointing in Isla's direction. Arran craned her head around and her face fell. Her sister had not only tied her hair back but had slashed off the bottom of her robes up to her knees with a short slit on one side.  
Arran let out a groan and stood. "Alistair I'm borrowing your sword."  
Alistair opened his mouth to protest but when she grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him to his feet he couldn't protest. Arran stalked over to Leilana and her sister.  
Her eyes narrowed at Leilana. "What are you doing?"  
"I'm teaching your sister how to use a sword..."  
"And you're giving her a sword?" Arran in one smooth movement snatched it from her. She protested but with a short wave Arran silenced her. Ignoring Leilana she turned around to her sister, her face serious the usual grin that played on her lips gone.  
"You don't learn how to use a sword by picking up a sword. It's not like..." She paused eyeing the short sword Leilana had handed over. She threw it point down into the soil, where it quivered. "It's not like sewing. Or writing. You don't start with the implement. It's more like magic."  
Isla opened her mouth to protest, but a look from her sister silenced her. Arran looked years older. It worried her.  
"Your weapon needs to be part of you before you even learn where to hit people with it. You don't just poke them with the pointy end, because then you'll end up poking your fellows or more likely yourself." She nodded to Alistair, who then handed Arran his sword.  
It was a warden's sword. He carried it proudly. It was made from steel and had the griffin emblazoned on the pommel. Arran weighed it in her hand, and then held it out to Isla.  
Her sister frowned. "You just told me you don't begin with a sword."  
"Take it." She commanded.  
Tentatively, Isla took the sword in her hands. it was heavy. But she managed. She swung it a little.  
"Alistair, use your templar training, take away her magic."  
"Arran..."  
"Alistair!" Arran ordered.  
Alistair concentrated, against his better judgement. He drew on the power within, seeking out Isla's. He found it, and snatched it away.  
Isla cried out as the sword's weight dragged her muscles downwards. The sword clumped to the ground, falling out of her hands. She felt weak and dizzy.  
"What-cha do that for?" The mage shouted, looking to her sister who raised an eyebrow.  
"You said you wanted a sword for when you had no magic. Well, you have no magic now and you can't even lift that..." Arran pointed to Alistair's which lay on the floor. She picked it up and spun it herself in her wrist, tossing it from hand to hand. "This isn't a heavy sword. It is designed to be in the lighter range. This is the sort of sword you'll have to use because you'll be carrying a staff in one hand."  
She threw it in the air, before leaning forward and grabbing at Isla's robes, pulling her forward to throw her off balance. Then with a small grunt Arran pushed her back, before she caught the sword in one hand, and then kicked Isla square in the chest. The mage folded, landing on her arse. Uninjured, but shocked. Arran levelled the point of the sword at her sisters throat.  
"Get up."  
"Arran you're being a bit hard on her..." Alistair protested, stepping forward.  
"Darkspawn aren't going to go easy on her! Loghain's soldiers aren't going to let her get to her feet without tripping on her robes! They're not going to watch, or stop at a kick or a point!" Arran snarled her eyes never leaving her sisters. "If Isla wants to learn how to use a sword, she'll learn. But if I give her a sword she'll try to use it and then she'll die because she won't be able to." She stepped back, away, and handed Alistair his sword. She looked back at Isla as she lay in the dirt.  
"You'll learn from me Isla, or you won't learn at all. You'll learn _my _way, or, Maker help me, I'll make anyone that tries to teach you incapable. Come to me when you're going to be sensible about it. Swordsmanship isn't like learning a language, or maths." She turned and walked away, before turning around and pointing at her sister's legs, now visible from the knee down.  
"And do something sensible about your clothes! If you're fighting in the woods you'll end up with thorns and scratches all over your legs, not to mention you're presenting a nice squishy target for a dagger to be sunk into! Get some trews and greaves for pities sake."  
As she left Arran snatched up the sword she had embedded in the ground, stalking off into the tree line.  
Isla gawped at her sister, before shaking her head and pushing herself upright. She brushed off her robes and fingered the tear she had put in. Leilana smiled. "I have a spare pair of trews you can pull on there if you like."  
Alistair shrugged. "She has a point, Isla. Maybe you should stick to magic. If she's anything like Duncan was when it came to swordplay..." He pointed to a scar on his forehead. "He gave me this with a wooden sword."  
Isla's brow furrowed. "If anything, she's only made me more determined to learn. She was basically saying I'm too weak...I'll show her!"

_An hour later..._

Isla had got some trews from Leilana. She'd also managed to procure some leather armour from her sister's tent. It was the type Arran wore, so she was sure she would approve. She took no sword, but on Zevran and Alistair's advice and insistence, she took a plain wooden staff. It was obvious Arran had left a trail to be followed, and she came upon her sister in the stream. She was having a bath, her clothes and sword left at the bank.  
"I'm sorry." Isla said, finding a rock and sitting on it.  
Arran glared at her from the water. The dog whined up at her, and licked her hand.  
"I went about that all wrong, I didn't realise I would need your permission to learn how to use a sword. Can I have your permission?"  
Arran frowned at her this time, ducking under the water and wetting her hair. She swam across a little closer, and reached for a bloom at the side of the river. She pulled it, and began to rub it into her hair.  
"I have some soap in my pack if you want it..." Isla offered.  
"Isla." Arran said. "Why don't you try being quiet and observing, rather than offering your advice all the time? You're smart, but you don't know everything. Soap makes a lather. It makes bubbles. The bubbles travel down the flow of the stream and tell whoever is camped down there that some idiot upstream is taking a bath. With soap. Do you understand now?"  
Isla fell silent, and glanced at her hands.  
"And the flower, when crushed, smells nice and covers up the smell of darkspawn visceral. I can't do anything about my mucky clothes until we reach an inn, but at least my skin is clean."  
Isla nodded. "And the swordsmanship?"  
"You really, truly want to learn?"  
"Yes."  
"I won't go easy on you just because your my sister. If anything I'll be extra tough on you."  
"I know."  
"Do you remember any of my training when I was little? What mother put me through?"  
"I remember early mornings, lots of mud and you complaining about sore muscles. But you wouldn't let me heal you."  
"The pain is an indicator of improvement. "  
"Good, then I want to learn."  
Arran turned back at her sister and stared at her. "Why? You have all of us to protect you Isla, Redcliffe was a one time thing, I won't let it happen again."  
Isla shook her head. "That's my point, you can't always protect me and I can't always protect you. With me learning this I could help more, when I'm magically incapacitated."  
"And what will I learn?"  
At that Isla grinned. "You will learn that I'm not a soft touch, at least, at the end of it all."  
Arran eyed her sister sceptically. "So...you'll do whatever I tell you to, without question, without complaint, even if it seems silly?"  
Isla nodded. "Of course. As long as it pertains to learning how to use a sword, as it were."  
Arran gestured to her pack which lay on the embankment. "In my pack, there's two large crystals. I want you to strap them to your wrists and carry them. Without the aid of magic. All day. Starting tomorrow morning."  
The mage nodded, and moved to her sister's pack which she groped through. Arran carried a lot of weird things - she had the usual whetstones, medical kit. She had a little box of potions, very carefully packed. There was a spare shirt, some jerky and her canteen strapped to the side. But there were things that pointed to her more erratic nature - a shiny gold necklace, a small bottle of some strange liquor. A note book which was scrawled in her messy hand and was well thumbed. Another two notebooks - not in her hand but they were also very well read. She found the crystals, and lifted them.  
"These are heavy!" Isla exclaimed, pulling them out.  
Arran swam to the edge of the river, gesturing for Isla to bring the bandages and the crystals over. She complied, and squatted down while her sister showed her how to bandage them to her wrists. "You're not allowed to take them off when we rest either - from dawn till dusk you've to wear these every day, until you don't feel like you're wearing them anymore."  
"You've got to be joking! That'll take months!"  
Her sister frowned at her."I'm serious Isla!" Arran gestured to her face, "This is my serious face! Serious face means I'm serious!"  
Isla laughed. Arran huffed at her, and tightened the bandage. "Trust me - if we had months to turn you into a swords woman, you wouldn't have to wear them dawn till dusk. But we don't, so you have to."  
"Fine..." Isla conceded, standing up and swinging her now heavy arms. "What did you have to carry?"  
"I did a lot of heavy lifting." Arran said, swimming back into the water. "But I also practised with sticks and javelins, wooden swords and eventually blunt swords with mum. Duncan made me polish his armour for hours on end."  
Isla indicated to the long wooden staff she had brought over. "Should I swing that about?"  
"You can if you like. But it won't do you any good unless you want to become a pike twirler."  
"Pike twirler?" Isla's face crinkled in incomprehension.  
"It's a man's thing." Arran explained. "Every so often they feel the need to wave their pike's around, like it'll impress us."  
"Impress who?" Alistair came crashing through the undergrowth, sneaking was not his talent. Which was just as well.  
"I can't believe you sent Isla with a big wooden staff! Like she'll ever be able to twirl a pike!" Arran scolded him. His brown eyes sought her out as she swam back to the embankment and climbed out the river.  
"HOLY MAKER YOU'RE NAKED!" The male warden turned crimson and scrunched up his eyes, covering his face with his hands for good measure.  
"Well...obviously." Arran said nonchalantly, sitting down on a rock to dry.  
"Yea Alistair..." Isla said, picking up the staff and swinging it back and forth a few times. "She's hardly going to have a bath fully dressed, is she?"  
"But, but...Naked!" Alistair was still hiding behind his hands, his ears beetroot red. "In front of me! I think I saw nearly everything!"  
"Only cause you were looking!" Arran teased.  
"Alistair really? If your that embarrassed go back to camp, retain your dignity," Isla giggled as she walked past the startled templar.  
"That um … might be a … um good idea … um I …" Alistair stopped mid-sentence and then his brow furrowed as memories of Arran's naked back came to his mind. "… Is that a drawing on your back?" he stammered. Isla frowned and stopped swinging the staff then turned and peaked around Alistair's form to see a small black-inked tattoo crawling up Arran's back. She pushed pass him to get a closer look and it was then she could see that it was a tree much like the one in the alienage but in the branches names appeared. Her family's names. Arran glanced over her shoulder as Isla examined it. Her fingertip tracing the ink. The elf grinned.  
"Yea, it's our family tree." She reached around herself, gesturing half way up the tree. "See, here's mum, and dad, and here's Aunt Zanne, and here is Shianni and Soris...look Isla there's you..." Arran tried to peer over her shoulder. "Some of it as it goes further back is a little sketchy, Valendrian doesn't have that great records anymore...But look! Here's space for your kids Isla, and Shianni's... Here's Duncan, and I'll have to find some sort of space for you Alistair, and your kids..."  
That made Alistair open his eyes. "What?" He moved forward too, now eager to examine the body art. His cheeks were still flushed red, but Arran grinned over her shoulder at him. His own finger poked at Duncan's name, and the space below."  
"I don't recognise the language the other names are in?" He said.  
"It's elvish!" Isla said, "Who did this Arran, it's beautiful!"  
"Oh, my friend Mahariel." She said softly. "She's a dalish elf I know, she suggested I get one of the old gods tattooed on my face but that felt a little weird so I said maybe my family's names and she suggested the tree... Tamlen designed it."  
Suddenly a musical voice reached their ears.  
"My, my Alistair twins! and you didn't even invite me! Tsk I am so very disappointed and put out!"  
Isla never saw Alistair drop his hands and scramble away from the sisters faster than having a herd of darkspawn on his tail. It made her burst out into a fit of giggles along with her sister at seeing his already bright blush turn almost purple and was more than likely travelling all the way down to his toes and back again.  
"I … erm … no … I … STOP LAUGHING AT ME!" Alistair lamented.  
Zevran chuckled, as Arran uncharacteristically felt a little shy. She reached from her shirt, aware of the Antivan's roving eye. Fortunately, it focused on her back and not her other...assets.  
"Interesting Tattoo mi mariposa, Your family tree?'"  
"Yes." Arran nodded.  
"I hear... that you get those tattoo's by having someone use needles to put the ink under your skin..." Alistair spoke up, drawing the assassin's attention while Arran began to pull her clothes on.  
"A great many needles, amongst other things, yes, that would be true.." Zevran nodded.  
"Doesn't that hurt?"  
The assassin laughed, "Ooh, yes. Yes. But in truth it is not so bad. I could give you one, if you like? I learnt a bit of the art myself in Antiva."  
"Oh no!" Alistair held up his hands, stepping away from Zevran and shaking his head. "No. No. I don't think so. "  
"Aw, come! It will just be a small one! The symbol of the Grey Warden's perhaps? Something manly! Where are my needles?" The assassin cast about, his hands patting his many pockets.  
Alistair backed away, shaking his head, "No no! Um...maybe...some other time... I'm going to go..stand back at the fire..."  
The ex-templar fled. Zevran laughed, winking at the now dressed Arran and Isla. "What fun that Chantry-boy is."  
"You didn't need to scare him so horribly about tattoo's." Arran scolded playfully. The assassin laughed, stepping up between the twins and draping his arms over their shoulders.  
"Ah, my dove, but how else would I get you two alone to suggest we make an Antivan sandwich?"  
Arran laughed, and shrugged Zevran's arm off her shoulder. She stepped around him, and caught her sister by the elbow pulling her away. "In your dreams, Araniai..."  
"What does he mean Arran?" Isla frowned.  
Arran shook her head, walking away from Zevran who stood looking at her imploringly. "Listen...I'll explain out of his hearing..."  
The assassin watched the twins walk off into the trees. He admired the graceful curve of Arran's legs, her light movements. The swish of long blond hair. He let out a little sigh.  
"WHAT? EEEEWW!" Isla exclaimed.  
The Antivan allowed himself another chuckle.

* * *

_Sorry for the late update! With the holiday season and well...laziness... we've fallen a bit behind. But we've resolved to catch up! And we will! So watch out for updates on our own other stories too! =D_

_In addition, if you haven't read the Last Wish/Blood of Elves, please go off and read them. Or even better, go play The Witcher. It is an epic game and Geralt is pure love. Yes, we are fudging with the Dragon Age verse a little by including Witchers and their nature, but it works. ASt least, in our heads. And makes for much amusement. Obviously Geralt of Rivia doesn't belong to us, but is copyrighted to Andrzej Sapkowski. We're just playing with him 8D_

_Please leave a review, even if it's just to say you've read! Thank you! _

_Leask & Mousemage. ~xXx~  
_


	8. Chapter 8

They emerged blinking into the daylight. After the darkness of the caverns, they were almost blinded by the snow.

"Did you really have to agree to poison the ashes?" Leilana hissed.

"I only said that so we could escape!" Isla growled at the lay sister, watching her sister skip ahead.

"More snow?" Zevran lamented, drawing his cloak tighter about himself. He ran after Arran and snatched up hers, which she hadn't even wrapped about herself for the cold!. He bundled it about himself until all that could be seen of the assassin was two amber eyes, peering out from between folds of fabric. "I hate the cold! It's such a barbaric country!"

Alistair slapped the assassin on the back. "Not adjusting to the climate, my _friend?" _

"Sarcasm is unbecoming of an Heir to a throne," The elf growled, "And I was brought up in the beautiful Antiva City, which is quite fantastically tropical, you geographically challenged pleb."

"Careful Alistair!" Arran grinned over her shoulder, walking lightly on the snow, "He might try to attack you in your sleep! But don't worry, he'll probably reveal his diabolical plot before he does!"

"Giving you ample time to come up with an escape plan!" Isla grinned, yanking the extra cloak off the assassin. He yelped.

"You need to get used to the cold at some point." Morrigan muttered, drawing her own cloak tighter about her.

"If I had been aware we were going to be climbing up mountains, I would've brought a warmer gambeson!" He hissed, hunching down further into his cloak.

"You were coming to _Ferelden_" Leilana said with a wry grin, "Were you not even the slightest bit aware of it's climate? Your armour is practically see through Monsieur."

"Is it pick on the assassin day or something?" Zevran muttered, unable to reach for a witty retort. The cold was freezing his brain.

Arran patted him on the shoulder. "Aw, mia mariposaaaa... it's always pick on the assassin day in Ferelden, didn't you know that? Did no one tell you when you washed up on our shores?"

"Dragon." Sten said, stoically, gesturing.

"Shores Sten, I said shores!"

"And I said dragon." The quanri grumbled.

"He didn't ride to Ferelden on a dragon!" Alistair exclaimed! "I think we would've noticed!"

"I certainly wouldn't have been shot!" Isla joined in.

"No, Dragon." Sten pointed into the distance, before ducking.

The great stench of reptile overwhelmed them, and the party was nearly knocked to their feet as a great dragon flew overhead. It landed majestically on a near by outcrop of rock, and let out an unnecessary roar announcing it's presence.

"Is there another Ferelden word for "great flying bescaled beast" that I should use in future to alert you?" The quanri mused bitterly, picking himself up.

"Sten, if I didn't know you better I would think you were being facetious Arran stood up herself, brushing snow off her knees.

"I don't know this word, 'facetious'."

"It would take to long to explain to you." Isla said, as all eyes fixed onto the dragon posturing on the outcrop. Isla could see Arran's eyes moving to the great big gong near to them. "Don't even think about it!" She pointed a finger at her sister, who froze where she was walking.

"What?" She spread her hands, "It's not like we're all going to be able to sneak past it anyway, and this is a nice solid piece of ground perfect for fighting big ol' beasties..."

"You're not seriously suggesting we..." Alistair gawped.

"What, fight the dragon?" Arran grinned, "Of course! it'll be good practise for my Archdemon!"  
The rest of her companions all stared at her like she had gone mad. She quite possibly had done. Only Isla seemed to momentarily pause and think about it while trying to suppress an amused grin.

"What? The Archdemon is a big nasty slightly rotted dragon, right? Or have I been lied to by countless grey wardens? See that Duncan..." Arran folded her arms across her chest, shaking her head.

Alistair sighed. "No, you are right there."

Zevran frowned. "This is madness!"

Arran shrugged.

"We're not going...to..surely not?" Zevran exchanged a long look with Arran, who was grinning impishly. The assassin sighed, and threw up his hands in defeat. "Fine! Fine! But afterwards, I'm going to need a change of trouser.," The dog barked happily, bouncing around them all.  
Arran clapped him on the shoulder, and Isla chuckled.

"Well, master commander?" Leilana turned to the mage. "Got a plan?"

Isla pointed at a nearby rock outcrop. "I am going to stand behind that big rock and throw spells at it with Morrigan. You guys can stay here and be dinner if you like."

"That's your plan?" Alistair's mouth hung open.

"I didn't say it was a good plan!" Isla laughed.

Sten let out a long, tired sigh which paused everyone into reflection. Isla turned to her sister.  
"Know anyone that's fought a dragon?"

Eventually Arran spoke up. "Geralt and Duncan have both fought dragons." She said softly. Her face was thoughtful. "They said the where the neck meets the head is the weak point, and their eyes of course. Geralt told me that fire is useless, unless you can get them to swallow it because their insides aren't fireproof. Duncan...Duncan said if you can get up behind the horns, where the head meets the neck you can shove a sword down into it's brain. Or hack at all the arteries there, at least."

"Sounds like a good plan, Arran." Isla agreed.

"Huh?" Arran raised an eyebrow.

"Go for it's head. You and Zevran can climb up it's neck and hack it's head off, while Sten, Leilana and Alistair distract it, and Morrigan and I weaken it with spells."

"Oh thank you VERY much!" Zevran exclaimed, glaring at the elf-mage. Isla shrugged, spread her hands then turned and walked away. She was sure the assassin was thinking about hurling daggers at her back but she continued to walk towards the outcrop, a grin firmly on her face.

Morrigan joined her, and flashed her a little wry smile. "You are quite, quite mad." The wilds witch whispered.

"I think Arran is rubbing off on me," she replied chuckling.

"Let us hope not too much."

_Later..._

They were covered in dragon gore. With an expression of disgust, Zevran peeled what he could only assume to be...flesh off his cheek.

"Loot!" Arran squealed in delight, running off with a big sword, she began to hack at the dragon's hide.

Morrigan stared at the giant corpse, and the small elf who seemed determined to hack off all it's skin completely. "What _are_you doing, elf?"

Arran glanced over her shoulder, the dog with a mouthful of flesh pulling with a growl. The sickening sound of skin being torn off fat echoing. She flashed the witch a grin. "Dragon scale. Rumoured to make fantastic armour!"

The witch let out a long sigh, and waved a hand dismissively at her before heading back towards Isla. She prayed that the mage-twin wouldn't end up quiet as mad as the other, their efforts against the blight would surely end up with Arran hurling loot at the creatures rather than an army.

"I need a baaaaaath!" Zevran whined, upset no-one was paying attention to him, after he had so valiantly gouged out the dragon's eyes. He flicked some of the dragon's eye off his shoulder.

Isla melted some ice above his head. In seconds the assassin was soaked through. Clean, but soaked through.

"Now I'm wet and cold!" He lamented, beginning to shiver.

"Oh make up your mind!" Alistair groaned, finding his sword in the dragon's neck and hauling it out with the sickening crack of gristle. "I'm cold!" He imitated the Antivan's accent, "I'm wet! I'm covered in dragon gooo!"

"Shut up, your majesty!" Zevran snapped, thoroughly grumpy.

Isla set about making a fire for them all to clean off and warm up around. Arran was heavily preoccupied with cleaning dragon hide, and finding a way to easily transport it. She brought over a hunk of dragon meat too, and suggested they cook it. No-one was particularly interested until she had started roasting it over the flames, and the smell of meat tickled everyone's taste buds.  
After everyone had gorged themselves on dragon meet, they all laid down and sat in companionable silence. Eventually Arran stirred, hopping to her feet and heading back over to the carcass. She cut more great cuts of meat, and returned to the camp with them. Reaching into her pack she drew out salt. Everyone began to gather around, curious.

"I'm making dragon jerky." She answered mute enquiries.

"Jerky?" Leilana raised an eyebrow.

"It'll never dry here, or in time for it to be any use." Alistair pointed out, hiding his pack before she stole his salt ration. Salt was precious, and expensive. He hoarded it almost as much as he hoarded cheese.

"Uh, Alistair, we're travelling with mages! We don't need to dry it out, they can magic it dry."

"I am not wasting magic on something so trivial!" Morrigan announced.

"It does mean we wouldn't have to eat anything cooked, like say...Stew...?" Arran suggested.  
"Marvellous Idea!" Zevran piped up, before everyone else voiced their agreements very loudly until Morrigan caved. It didn't take long to salt and dry the best cuts of meat from the dragon - there was always going to be more meat than they could possibly carry anyway, but it did mean their salt supply ended up very low indeed.

Needless to say, they ate well that night. For the first time in many nights they all went to sleep with full bellys, tucked away in an alcove next to a large dragon corpse for shelter. It wasn't how Isla had pictured a life outside the tower, but it was a good one. With a sigh she wriggled a little closer to her sister for warmth, and drifted into the best sleep she'd had in days.

_The next day _…

"There has been suffering in your past, your suffering, and the suffering of others," the Guardian said. His old weathered eyes looked at Isla first. "Jowan was discovered by the Templars. You were helping him. Tell me, do you think you failed Jowan?"

Isla frowned and her hand tightened around her staff. "No," she growled, her eyes narrowed on the spirit. "He betrayed _me_, lied to me and I risked my own life to help him foolishly. If I hadn't helped him escape the tower Arl Eamon may not have become ill. I may not have had to _murder_his only son. No I do not think I 'failed' him. I only failed to stop him."

The guardian seemed to mull over her words. "Thank you, that is all I wished to know. Isla turned on her heel and walked away. "I need some space," she clipped.

The eyes of the party watched her go but no-one followed as she stepped away. Arran gently took hold of Alistair's arm, restraining him from following after her as the guardian turned his eyes on the rest of them. He caught Arran's eye. She knew it wasn't going to be a pleasant, nor easy question.

"Arran, by the time you reached Shianni, she was broken, brutalised, you were too late. Did you fail Shianni?" Arran stood quietly for a very long time, staring at her shoes. The room grew silent, and everyone fidgeted a little.

"Yes." Arran said finally, lifting her eyes to focus on the spirit. Her voice was soft, her hands balled into little fists. "I failed her. She should never have hit him with a bottle, it should've been me. I should've snuck into that snot nosed bastard's chambers years ago, and opened his throat,." Arran hesitated, drawing in a shaky breath. She hadn't wanted to voice these thoughts, but now she had started she couldn't stop. Isla paused in her wanderings, turning to listen to her sister's story. "I never should've ran away when he killed my mother, I should've stayed and pierced his heart, and I regret every day that I didn't! Every day that he had that my mother didn't, and the fact he managed to get his slimy hands all over Shianni..." Arran's voice dropped into a growl, her jaw clenched tight. Despite herself, her hands were shaking.

An arm snaked around her shoulder and Isla pulled her into her side, the mage said nothing that would comfort her sister so just squeezed her tight against her body. Isla was proud of her and she sighed.

"You're too hard on yourself Arran. You're not perfect, no-one is and until us mages can figure out how to change time we're stuck like this."

"Alistair Knight and Warden, you wonder if things would have been different if you were with Duncan on the battlefield. You could have shielded him from the killing blow. You wonder don't you? If you should have died and not him."

"I … Yes, if Duncan had been saved everything would be better. If I just had the chance maybe …," his voice trailed off and Arran placed an a reassuring arm on his shoulder. Suddenly there were two and Alistair turned to see Isla at his other side, offering him a sad smile. The guardian turned on the rest of their companions, asking them their own questions. When he came to Morrigan the wilds witch shooed him away, unwilling to entertain the spirits question. After they had all been quizzed, each of them feeling awkward at the examination, they moved on through to the first chamber in silence.

Surprisingly their first 'test' was to answer a number of interesting riddles. They passed quickly without much distraction, Isla, Sten and Leilana were able to answer their riddles without little difficulty. Alistair took a little while with his but was successful, as was Morrigan and Arran after a short time, but it was Zevran that found his question most frustrating. Isla and Arran found him muttering his riddle under his breath at the opposite end of where the spirit was standing, waiting.

"She wields the broken sword, and separates true men from tyrants … of what do I speak?" over and over he repeated it.

Arran nudged her sister, "You know the answer don't you?"

Isla nodded but Arran frowned. "Then why don't you tell him?"

"It wouldn't be a test then, we agreed that we would do this Arran. We have to at least attempt this stupid gauntlet." Isla replied.

Arran looked at her sister. "I thought you'd be all for this Chantry stuff.."

Isla looked at her sister as if she had just grown another head and announced she was part dwarf. "No," she spluttered. "I was made to attend these stupid chantry services and ask for _forgiveness_for something I had no control over from birth! I believe there is something but I'm not stupid enough to believe in some woman's, possibly deranged account of the "Higher Power" involved in shaping the universe."

Arran was momentarily silenced by her sister's bitter admission. Then she chuckled. "Wow, they really know how to try and screw you mages up don't they?"

Isla chuckled and nodded. "You have no idea the hypocrisy in that place."

They both looked back over to Zevran. He was still battling with the riddle and Arran was beginning to lose her patience.

"Oh for goodness sake Arainai! It's Mercy! The answer is mercy!" Arran yelled. Suddenly the ahead of them opened and everyone turned to see the passage clear. Zevran turned around and flashed Arran a grin.

"As clever as you are deadly, Mia Mariposa." He cooed, flashing her a wink as she walked up. For a second they stood, gazes locked before Arran flashed him a warm grin, walking past him and squeezing his shoulder.

"You'll get the hang of Mercy one day Arainai."

The assassin chuckled and waited, letting Isla follow behind her. It was then the twins disappeared from his sight and he ran after them.

"Mia Maraposa! Lady Mage!" he called out. The elf looked left and right but found only himself in the corridor. A familiar giggle came from behind him and then the world went dark.

Arran groaned. Why hadn't she seen that blasted assassin take her down? And why would he do it now? In front of _everyone_. Sten alone would step on his skull until he stopped twitching. She heard someone chuckle and quickly rolled over to get to her feet. Silently she withdrew the stiletto strapped to her thigh, and hopped to her feet..

She was slim, as always, standing with her weight on her left leg, like she always did. Arran knew why - it was the way she stood, always ready to draw a weapon, always ready to move. It was a fighter's pose and she had been taught it since she was a child. Blond hair was braided back, although since she was a cheerful woman there were small daisy's entwined within it. She wore a man's clothing, and strapped to her thigh was Fang. A quiver of arrows hung from her back, as did her bow. Arran had never learnt to shoot them, and now she never would.

"Ma?" Arran exclaimed, the word sticking in her throat as the stiletto fell from her fingers.

Adaia smiled, tilting her head. "Suffering from butterfingers, my girl?"

Swallowing Arran shook her head, and crouched down groping for her knife before she slotted it back into place. This was not what she had expected, not what she had expected at all...

_Elsewhere... _

"There you are, my little mouse." Was whispered gently, a hand brushing over her hair. "How are you faring, hmm?"

Isla frowned, letting her eyes flutter open. When had she closed them? The face that swam into focus, it was familiar. Hauntingly familiar. It was her mother. Just as she remembered her. Her hair was loose and hung long down her back. She wore that small pendant that her mother gave her on the same cord of string and as Isla looked up to her eyes she could see the same softness that she remembered. There was little of the hardness that Arran had mentioned but Isla knew better, she could see past the softness and see the strength underneath it. Her arms were lean but well toned, her simple regular clothes loose to give her freedom of movement if anything should happen. Then there was that undeniable smell of fresh bread that she always smelled of. Isla closed her eyes and breathed it in, it was the most reassured she had felt in a very long time.

"Ma...?" She whispered tentatively, jerking away from hand that had smoothed over her hair. Isla had seen her mother plenty of times before in the fade, demons trying to tempt her. But she wasn't sleeping this time, and she knew she wasn't asleep. And normally, the fade didn't look like a room she had never seen before. Which looked like it belonged in temple. She frowned.

Adaia laughed again, letting her hand rest on her knees. "You're right to be cautious, my little one. And I'm glad you are. This isn't the fade. I'm not sure what it is."

"Then why are you here?" Isla finally managed. Adaia sighed and gave her daughter a good look over.

"I'm here to tell you that I am proud of you, you have shown great strength but you'll need all of it to help you in the coming days." Adaia placed a hand on Isla's shoulder. "You carry such guilt that is not yours to carry both you girls do."

Her mother sighed and for a moment she looked sad. Isla felt the firmness of her hand placed on her shoulder and looked at it closely. This was definitely not the fade and she definitely wasn't going mad. She looked back up at her mother's gentle face.

"We miss you." The young mage whispered gently.

Adaia smiled. "I miss you both too, but you have each other now and a band of misfits that are close becoming family." She chuckled and then became serious and suddenly at Isla's side appeared Arran. She placed a hand on each of their shoulders and looked at them. "You are in this together, but you each have your own path. Let the past lie in the past, here." She brought her hands to her neck and removed her pendant. She covered it with her hands and when she revealed it again it had split into two identical necklaces and handed it to them. "Take these, I know you will do well. Remember where you came from and who you are."

Adaia pulled them both into a tight embrace. "Oh my girls, know I am always proud of you."

Arran and Isla were only aware their mother had gone when Alistair's voice cut through the silence.

"You too huh?" he asked.

The twins slowly opened their eyes to find themselves holding onto each other tightly, the ghost or spirit of their mother now gone. They slowly moved apart but not before looking at their hands where the gift from her remained tightly gripped. Both the girls were quiet and they were not the only ones, it seemed everyone had had an encounter with someone, or something. Isla moved to her sister and offered to tie her necklace. Arran nodded and the two soon swapped positions until they both wore the identical necklaces. Isla smiled, more genuinely than she had before and somehow she felt a bit lighter. Arran hooked her arm through her sisters.

"Right, shall we go and see the corpse then?" Isla offered, casting her eye around the disquieted group.

"Since when does a dead woman's bone dust count as a corpse?" Arran chuckled, and with that fly remark she broke the spell of melancholy that hung over everyone.

"Dead woman dust?" Leilana scolded, "That's no way to talk about a woman who achieved so much in a difficult world - even if you do not believe that she was the Maker's bride, she is a woman to be admired."

Arran chuckled. "Do you reckon she was a mage?" She pondered as they wandered along the corridor, her eyes flickering around checking for trap, oddities in the light, anything just not feeling right.

"It would be delightful if she had been." Morrigan added, "But a tad hypocritical, wouldn't you say?"

"Seems to be the over running theme with the Chantry..." Isla muttered.

"Look out!" Arran cried, pulling her dagger from her back and slashing at the air. An arrow clattered noisily to the ground, and a battle cry sounded from the far end of the room.

Alistair, or at least, someone who looked very like Alistair, came running down the corridor his face twisted with anger and rage. Leilana reached for her bow and arrow, only to take a small bolt to her upper arm. With a cry she spun around, and was faced with a picture of herself. In seconds she was engaged in a furious close quartered fight with herself, barely managing to deflect a rain of slashes and wild hacks.

"What's happening?" Alistair yelled, suddenly engaged in combat with a very angry Sten who was raining blows down upon him. His shield clattered against steel, and with a growl he surged forward pushing the quanri back, before slashing desperately at his knees.

"I don't know!" Isla yelled, summoning a protective bubble about herself to give herself a moment to think. Her eyes scanned the room, everyone absorbed in frantic combat with what looked like a mirror copy of the group. Zevran was battling a furious Arran; Alistair leapt away from Sten in time for Morrigan to impale the quanri on an ice bolt; Leilana stabbed herself in the stomach before retreating; the dog was circling herself growling. Sten, mercilessly cut down an Isla, his great sword cleaving her head off. He strode across the room to assist Zevran, before the real Arran leapt wildly through the air to intercept a horrible version of Alistair who was about to cut down the real one. Deftly she grabbed his face from behind, dragging Fang across his throat to open it in a swift movement that left the poor Warden covered in his own visceral. She swung around to meet a Morrigan, only just leaping out of the way in time to avoid being blasted by a fire bolt.

Alistair rushed the fake Morrigan with an angry cry, slightly disturbed with how quickly Arran had been to open his throat, and took the opportunity to sink his sword deep into Morrigan's breast. She sagged and sank to the floor, just as Zevran hurtled a throwing knife between Leilana's eyes, hoping against hope he had killed the right one. Sten took care of Arran's copy after Isla had caught her in a paralysing glyph.

They all paused. "Is that everyone?" Zevran asked the room, as they all stared wild eyed.  
"No!" Isla yelled, just as a fake Zevran emerged from the shadows behind the real one. Desperate she threw whatever magic she could muster at the apparition, literally exploding him to bits. Instantly everyone was entirely far too familiar with the assassin's internal organs. Zevran caught his own leg. Horror was written all across his face.

Isla couldn't help but laugh, dropping her shield. Arran turned to her sister, picking a scalp of blond assassin hair off her shoulder. She grinned, and laughed.

"Look at that, Zev, You even got another shot of killing us, and you didn't even manage that!" She teased. Isla was inconsolable, tears were running down her face and she gasped for air as her laughing intensified.

Zevran frowned at Arran across the room, his finger pointing at Leilana. "I managed to kill her!"

"A lay sister!" Arran's grin widened as she headed over to shake her sister out of her hysterics.

"You killed me Arran! Quite viciously!" Alistair interjected, a little hurt as he cleaned his sword.

"You seemed to relish sinking your blade into my chest." Morrigan replied evenly, raising an eyebrow at the warden.

"Well, you're er..." Alistair began, then thought better of his original reply. "You were mean, you tried to blow up Arran!"

The dog barked, bounding over to Arran and nudging under her hand for a scratch. "We didn't kill one another." Sten broke up the bickering. "Merely shadows, look, the bodies vanish even now."

He was right, the bodies, those left intact and those not, started to disappear seemingly into the air. "It was a test," Leilana said softly, slightly in awe of the power of the place.

"Of what?" Morrigan snapped, "Our ability to slaughter one another?"

"No!" Leilana folded her arms across her chest. "I think it was a message about self doubt, did your previous apparition not remind you of how far you've come? To leave the past behind?"

Arran said nothing, her good mood evaporated as she strode through the room. "I don't care. Lets just get through the rest of this stupid gauntlet and find that dead mage's bone dust."

"She wasn't a mage!" But Leilana followed, the rest of them re-sheathing their weapons and filing into the next room. The room was large and circular, with a great chasm in the middle of it, preventing passage.

"Oh great, how do we get across this?" Alistair grouted with a sigh.

"Ali, pick me up and throw me." Arran nodded. "I'll fetch those bloody ashes."

"I am not tossing you across the freakin' room!"

"Well, there isn't a dwarf around so you'll have to toss the the elf!"

"I wish someone would toss me," Zevran muttered under his breath. A grin touched his lips. "Well, toss me _off _certainly."

Morrigan sighed and rolled her eyes. She caught sight of something on the wall and investigated. "I think it is another puzzle. From this inscription here, we are to "build a bridge."

Sten wandered off in exploration, stepping onto one of the large panel's experimentally. An image of a section of bridge appeared, but vanished when he stepped off it.

"I've read about these!" Isla exclaimed.

"Of course you have," Arran glanced ceiling ward. Isla glared at her.

"There was nothing else to do in the tower!" She replied, a little defensively.

"Sure there was," Her sister flashed her a grin. "I met a mage once who said the whole reason you guys wear robes was so there was no faffing in case a Templars decided to interrupt..."

"You've met Anders, haven't you?" Isla said with a sigh, tilting her head at her sister.

Arran nodded, and was about to reply when Sten interrupted. "You read about the bridge trickery? Care to enlighten those not of a tower?"

"Oh, yes." Isla sobered up, she pointed to a square. "It'll be a little trial an error but...if you stand there, Morrigan, and you stand there Ali, and Zevran..." She burst into a fit of giggles. "If you take your legs, and go stand there..." More giggles. Arran chuckled and shook her head.

Zevran grumbled. "Oh haha, very amusing, my legs, so funny.." But he obeyed, and there they stood.

Eventually through trial and error, Arran and Sten managed to cross the bridge. As soon as their feet touched the other side the whole bridge was solid and the rest of them managed to cross without any difficulty.

In the next room they were met with a wall of flame, and little alter. Leilana stood over it, and read the inscription. With a sigh she started to unbuckle her breast plate, dropping her bow and arrows to the ground.

"Er, what are you doing?" Alistair asked tentatively, "Taking your clothes off...?"

"The riddle, it is a test of faith. We must walk unprotected through the flames, trusting in Andraste and the Maker."

Arran and Morrgan stared at Leilana. They exchanged a glance. "I am not about to place my faith in a dead woman." Arran said flatly.

"Agreed," Morrigan said gently. "There is powerful magic here, there must be a way to combat it.

Isla reached out one hand to the flames, the head and flame was real enough and she sighed. Leilana now stood in her small clothes, looking at the rest of them. "We don't have to be naked," Leilana encouraged them as the others crowded around the small alter, inspecting the riddle.

"That sounds around right..." Zevran said, with a grin and unbuckling his breast plate and dropping his weapons. "Perhaps we should even be entirely devoid of all vestments?"

"Just remember that your going first." Arran said evenly, flashing a look over her shoulder at the assassin, who frowned at her. For second they held their gazes, before the assassin sighed again and unbuckled his greaves. "You are a harsh mistress, Mia Mariposa."

Zevran and Leilana passed through the flames unheeded, dressed in only their under-things. Seeing their success the rest of the group followed suit, although Arran did wonder out loud whether or not the dog really needed her collar taken off. She was a dog, after all, not like she was wearing anything anyway. Once through the flames the guardian appeared to them again, saying they could take a pinch of the ashes. The troop filed up the steps, weary and fed up this point.

Isla took a pinch, and then turned to leave. After the group had all eyed the Urn, all taking whatever spiritual or contemplative moments they needed. In the end, Arran and Zevran were left standing in front of the Urn themselves. Arran glanced over her shoulder at her sister, who was inspecting where the flames had been with Morrigan, trying to figure out how they were conjured.

"Nice vase," Zevran said contemplatively. " I should get one for my house."

"Screw your house." Arran said, dropping her pack and reaching into it. She hauled out a box from the bottom of it, embossed with a wolf's head. Gentle she lifted a tray, with a collection of strange potions secured to it, to reveal a collection of scrolls and letters in a hand Zevran couldn't decipher. Snatching up the Urn she swiftly upended it into the box, tipping most of the contents into the base before hurriedly packing it away again. Zevran quirked an eyebrow at her.

"Not a word to anyone!" She hissed, wagging a threatening finger at the assassin. He grinned, "Not a word, on my oath." Placing one hand over his heart he bowed, never taking his eyes from Arran's. She winked at him.

"Arran, stop looting, come on!" And with that Alistair ushered them all out of the temple.

_Later..._

All in all it didn't take them that long to get back to Redcliff. The return journey was uneventful save for a few encounters with darkspawn, which the team took out easily. They had settled into their roles in battle to the extent that it had almost become habit, them splitting into individual units without thinking. Typically Alistair and Sten went straight into the middle of the fray, with Zevran and Arran weaving through the chaos, dealing death and covering one another's back. Morrigan and Isla concentrated on magical damage, or healing spells wherever they were needed. Leilana covered them with long range fire power; occasionally assisted by Zevran should Arran feel that the darkspawn were converging on her sister.

Isla's training was did not ease for a moment with Arran being harsh on her sister. Everything was laboriously worked on, from her footwork to her stance, to her observation skills and her strength. Arran was still adamant that she shouldn't carry a sword just yet, less she get over enthusiastic and try to use it in battle. Alistair took to watching them train, helping when he could. He recognised many of Duncan's techniques in Arran's instruction - having gone through some of the same processes himself. As time went on it became clear to Alistair that Arran had spent a lot more time with Duncan than he had ever realised, or she had ever told him and that the man had helped shape Arran into the person she had become was very clear. Every day Isla got a little stronger, a little quicker, but Arran was a relentless teacher and never seemed to offer her any praise. Isla took it all in her stride but Alistair couldn't help but wonder if Arran was being a little too hard on her. One even he a had attempted to broach the subject with her, pointing out that from his own past experience under Duncan that Arran might go a little easier if Isla admitted, even just a little to being tired.

Isla had stared at him like he had just suggested she strip naked from the waist up and bathe in darkspawn entrails. "Don't be silly, Alistair." The mage had said wearily, "That means she wins."

It was probably some sort of strange sibling rivalry that Alistair was at a loss to understand.

Wearily they managed to return to Redcliff, the town beginning to bustle again as the townsfolk felt a little more confident and safe. It was still fortified against the darkspawn, and there was always a watch over Lake Calenhad in case the undead returned. But with Connor's death that was extremely unlikely. They clattered in, covered in dust, stinking of sweat and blood. Teagan greeted them at the gates to the castle and ushered them through. The ashes, at least the ones Isla possessed, were handed over to Teagan who swiftly despatched them to the Chantry sister who was Eamon's medic. The group began to disperse around the room they had been placed in. Exhausted, Isla was about to fall into a chair.

"Don't sit down yet." Arran called softly, picking up the long sword she carried on her back but never used. "Get your staff, we've got some sparring to do in the courtyard."

Isla bit back a groan, reclaiming her staff from where she had laid it against the bookshelf. Alistair attempted to catch her eye, trying to reiterate his earlier point. Isla ignored him and headed outside. With a sigh the warden caught up with the other sister.

"You're sister is going to die from exhaustion." He said plainly. Arran gave him a long look, it was clear she was tired too, fed up as well. She shrugged.

"Better that than a darkspawn eating her face."

She had a point.

Alistair left the sisters to their training, and free to wander his childhood stomping ground decided to explore a little. He checked out what once upon a time had been his bedroom. It was now a pantry. He peeked in on the dining room, they had changed that too. Mostly the castle was as he remembered (save missing a few shiny baubles here and there. When had Arran got into the Pink Drawing room and managed to nick the silver statue of a mabari that he remembered Maric giving Eamon for one of his birthdays?) and this saddened him a little. He wondered if Eamon had changed any.

It wasn't until he got to the library that he met someone who wasn't a servant. She was sat in one of the armchairs in front of the fire, her feet resting on a foot stool, a large grey mabari curled up beside her. There was a bandage around her head, and another about her arm. She seemed engrossed in reading something, but Alistair would recognise that dark hair and that profile anywhere.

"Elissa?" He started, quite forgetting himself.

* * *

_Hi guys! Sorry for the delay, as you all kind of know DA2 has a little distracting ... well we say a little ... we mean A LOT. That Fenris and that mage ...well you all kinda understand and for those that don't no spoilers for you. You'll just have to find out in your own time._

_We're starting to take some silly liberties with the Canon here now, and not to mention the "introduction" of Geralt the Witcher, making this more of a cross over story, so keep an eye out for those refrences. For4 those that haven't read/played any of the exploits of our white hiared anti-hero, he's a guy that gets paid to kill monsters. With a big substance abuse habit. He is love. ^_^_

_In the next chapter, we find out the nature of Ali's familarity with the Lady Cousland, find out an unfortunate secret about Arran, Sten discovers a fondness for dainty chocolates in foil wrappings, and Zevran confesses his feelings for Isla. _

_All reviews are love, whether to say we're rubbish, you like it, or you've just read. :)_

_Keep slaying those Darkspawn!_

_~xXx~_


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